Soft Webs

There's some pretty religiously

Infectious music

Drifting into my sullen

Hideway,

And I'm starting to feel

Saintly...

...Maybe I'll run into a crowd

And declare my soul

Aloud

To all the swollen necked

Cyborgs

That are shifting back and forth

In a rhytmic chain of duty...

...It is all so elemental,

Yet as modern as

They come...

...But, the feeling comes,

And goes,

As now the leech

Without a host

Writhes like a Mormon

Who's been kicked,

Laid on his side,

Beneath the steps

That lead to someone's

Private home...

...Yes, I was swayed,

But now I'm gone!...

Lost like a turkey

In the corn...

...Wonder when it

Will return...

The divine comes

In many forms...

And sometimes we are

Bait and switched...

...There's very little

In her pitch

That constitutes a

Crowning truth...

...I've been away,

And this sound roof

That I had trusted to

Survive

Has been discarded

Like a hat

Along the hook of

Highway 9...

The same interstate

Where cold cadavers

Cruise along at

Fatal speeds...

...At times were captured

In soft webs,

Or made to supplicate

In tears

To an unknown burning

Shadow

That grows more muted

By the year...

©

2017

Bunny Villaire