Rooftop In A Thunderstorm Row Missing The Point
Barrett Syd
Misc
Rooftop In A Thunderstorm Row Missing The Point
With yellow, red and roomy food, and quivered
crouching on a golden cushion
undressed himself to disappear
through an infinity of pleasure
and smiled to free the running me
with "Am I my brother's keeper?"
his meek hand on devils gloves
shaping running blood.
The prohecy, to ricreate the truth
in visions of a seasonal mood
in truth, the only sight he saw
and spat on the rug
as high is high, so low is low
and that's the end of it.