I really wish I visited this place more often.
Eyrie Origami
We're up too high,
staggering past clouds with arms in casts.
Hanging like portraits,
falling like artistic dreams.
And gravity just won't work fast enough.
We're rekindling,
in a maginifying glass with bloodshot eyes.
Blazing zephyrs,
melting soldiers.
Burning rubber in place of incense.
Inspiration?
Colours come to mind,
if only to blot out dark patches.
Paper folds in unison,
but my hands don't bend that way.
It's all too cryptic,
the wrong directions on arciform axis.
This could be design,
with crippled iridescence.
Artists with prosthetic visions.
Dreams?
Colours come to mind,
if only to blot out dark patches.
Paper folds in unison,
but my hands don't bend that way.
)
