by William Skink
ruby sun I better run as sirens start to wail unholy notes like spiky motes thrust behind my veil I must say beyond the fray twins may spin and sing but I discern transhuman worms and other wicked things owls hoot and lasers shoot as dewey dew drops drop then double bubble toil and trouble as news of Q goes hot fire serpents circle round my Virgo-19 heart the day they pulled a scream from tongue and cut my skin apart ruby suns and sugar buns selling cutie pies onion peelers and tuning healers it's time to fix our eyes
scorching! words… I get it. Thank-you. As Pound said, the poet is the antenna of the race. The human race.