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Molting From The Flames

Trotting the sandy-hair of mazy maps
With ambivalence hoisted drearily
Into the wanton contours of flaccidly
Wavering irk of my shoulders, singeing
I succumb the obstinate weather
Where fireballs scintillate like doves
And shrills utter of profane debauchery
Dwindling in the lapses of the sine
The fences of three-legged sways espied
Superfluous trample and scars to pawn
Hang adroitly like wind chimes to reckon

I wallow to descry a pint of profanity
Augmented with the strings of vanity
Of sacred parodies, laced not of quandaries
And voraciousness bloats my belly
Burning an ulcer to destruct the veil
Intricately filleting the prostrate grin
Painted for the diurnal holiday spinning
Like a Ferriswheel of throbbing gears
Itching for crumbs and trims for calamities
And scarcities and tyrannies clotting
In the harried ducts of amorphous wraiths

Amidst exuberant pirouettes and drills
Puncturing the stark tinted firmament
I walked through the thin films of ice
Licking the scorching frost in stalactites
A sullying flame of cold tearing spears
Painfully, becoming and unbecoming
What the unfettered telegrams aloft
These sooty walls of rues and blues
Heart snooping coyly in the sinewy rivers
Running through the succinct veins
Molting through the chars and clouts
The prancing flame spew to devour

poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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