What To Be Or Not
In your heart among the clouds,
roses breathe and stars sigh.
They lean their elbows upon
the coffin of your soul
and dream into your brain.
You see scowling leprechauns
and mourning processions of ants.
It’s Monday every Wednesday
and all the torches in their hair
heave a sign into the Void.
Everything appears old and wrinkled.
The stars unlace their bodices
and the lecherous roses
sprout embracing tendrils.
The sky sounds lovely as flame.
Beauty performs a transformation.
Just above your head, weeping
Angels await your kisses.
The time has come to decide.
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