I am sinning beneath the tomb-
I invoke sticky dogs
among the fire.
Yo! The insanity
is coming.
Weird mammoths sit within the bullshit.
We beat, entrancing leeches near the air.
Can you dig it?
The day is dying
Weird and dank among the land,
I sense dull fears over the virgin-
Atone! The end will come,
translucent and awake,
never meeting
a phone ringing.
In whose arms
will the traveller
miss the chance of?
The world is changed.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry
PoetryPoetry that serves to clash tonally and ideally with the objective that a new tone, genre, or coherency (some semblance of sense at all) can be made from throwing different ideas together in a bizarre gathering of words.
