Untitled
They say the voice has no purpose
but I do not believe.
My heart, cold as pluto
is still beating.
The Earth still rotates on its axis.
I see the truth behind eyes
and motion.
You might say,
a walking paradigm.
A porcelain doll...
Obedient.
(and you'd be right.)
And yet I am unruly.
I am a small
explosion.
Erupting into fiery madness
to be tamed one day
unleashed the next.
It really is quite something...
Walking around in my black silks...
rippling by like an atomic breeze.
Your love as tasteless
as flax seed.
My brain is molten like basalt.
Yet there is this fire
that can not be doused.
Something inside so strong!
Strange upheavals,
Uncharted lands,
Terra Incognita...
I am lucky.
Men die a mental death for this.
Vincent John Ancona Copyright 2006
