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Thunderstorms

de Serene Rose

Belief wears a coat of punches in the morning,
beginning the day with unconscious revery.
Or it's conscious, it's conscious, it's conscious.
Notice if this is a gift or just a number for collection.

Rheumatic boulder could your sheets still roll?
It went to a reunion
with its pillows brought from home.

The bombardment of games is
making us simper.
The ingredients of castles a
runaway mother.

Come on memory! Your span
holds movies, like novels,
like paintings, where did you go? Salvo of pleasure is
languor in my fists, on my throne.

The quiet of free and yet antithesizing.
Plural guitars of war that we don't know.
It's the loudness, the loudness, the loudness.

Sufferer's breast and the dryness of climactic milk.

Rheumatic boulder could your sheets still roll?
It went to a reunion
with its pillows brought from home.

The bombardment of games is making us simper,
the ingredients of castles a runaway mother.

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