GHOSTS ON A CANVAS

I lifted a rock and found Atlantis
guarded in the wisdom of the praying mantis
in all it's blackness

black magic...

fingers calloused, the drivel practice
Peons prick like cactus,
stained ghosts on a canvas...

embrace the flatness,
enjoy the frankness
a bit of pure malice
stuffed in a box, but i have Alice

a twist of my axis
a muse, my bad habits
and so I dance
though I am tragic...

in my trance of verbal madness...

Reviews

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

The wordplay in this poem...personified..would be strapped into a straight jacket. Verbal Madness indeed..... This is the work of an architect. Great vision in this work.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Fricking stunning, Rene. I love the flow of this one.