my lager eyes

my lager eyes

A Poem by Tim Lion

my lager eyes marvel

                                      your silvery goosage

                                      with feathered intentions

                                    of maroon honey burn.

stab wiggly warmth with stalactite

ice spikes: impact,

                                impale,

        impure-de jour

                                   hooked lure

                                      bite!

                         the midnight sweat sheen

                 that mars Miss Heaven’s thigh.

invest,

            ingest,

kill all

          unrest.

smooth breasts still smile

       like jack-o-ladies flick-

           er;

                quicker until

                       mud light reigns.

             the pricks,

                                       the scars,

             the rattler star

                             will strike like savage godfist.

                      we 1/10th doomed,

   7/10ths blessed,

                      and, with cream-whipped hope

                                                 we’ve devoured the rest.

                     

© 2011 Tim Lion


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Reviews

this poem makes me hazy, wraps me in its nonsensical demenor and makes me feel safe until i feel its painful prodding. but i just can't seem to wiggle free. wonderfully descriptive. i liked it. a lot.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This is like a head-butt upside the head. Deep, pressing yet smooth, laconic. This is a walk through the world that Hunter S. Thompson would smile at.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I'm not sure if your talking about jack the ripper, the french revolution or the good humor ice cream man....... but those scrumptious words are so tantalizing.

.... and then, why not write about those things thusly?

good stuff.

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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3 Reviews
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Added on October 17, 2011
Last Updated on October 17, 2011

Author

Tim Lion
Tim Lion

Lake Worth, FL



About
Sometimes, when the moon presses her naked chest to my window, and my wife is carving the value from trash scraps, I feel like I may never be able to outshine my finite timeline. And the worst part is.. more..

Writing
oh sorry, oh sorry,

A Poem by Tim Lion



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