Martian Interlude
Burn slow, baby. Burn slow.
Rainforests, Pine forests, multiplexes and cigarettes. School buses, French kisses, video tapes and apocalypse. Fire in the mountain, run, run, run! Pyre at the count of ten, run, run, run! Run through the dirty lane, run through the street. Run through the plastic shop selling plastic beet.
Come through my open door.
Come through the fire.
Swim through the dirty soul.
Swim into desire.
Foggy breath and sweaty lips. Burning bush and seething crown. Why do we touch, why do we kiss? Is it the fire or is it the smoke?
Oil fields and broken beads – empty teats and parched feet. Jarring beats and famous cheats. Oh, how they burn! How they bleat!
They bleat and moan, pitiful and low.
But you burn slow, baby. Burn slow.
posted by Confused Martian | 3:24 PM
8 Comments:
Ha ha - this was funny. I liked it. :)
It reminds me of Jim Morrison. Nice write though..
Quite a shade of Billy Joe
I don't completely get it, but I somehow just *know* it's kickass!
@ Neelabh
Ahhh Morrison. That bad boy who was asked to sit in the Poet's Corner. *sigh* If only...
@ Kanna
It feels good to be not understood! But this is just an experiment as usual. Not all ambiguities in here were intended.
Erotic.....
@Rajan
Knew you would say that! :D
its unfortunate, how good stuff come rare...write something dude...its almost time....even if its random musing..
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