Jesters By The Clay | Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

The More I See,
The Less I Believe…

So Might I Stab My Green Thumbs InTo The Sky,
Bring Down The Wrinkled Reign,
The Blues And The Less Than UnKnown,
With Friends… Seekers… Of Trips Through Wooden Horses,
Then Catch The Fire… Be Spirited AWay By Totem Permutations,
A Pecking Order That Freezes In The Skipping Of Stones,
Splashing Down With Medallions InTo Open Snapping Jaws…

The More It Eats,
The Less I Become…

To Incubate WithIn That Lighthouse’s Hollow Gut,
Heavy Is The Hand That Feeds The Flame,
Light Is The Head That Leads The Hand,
An Amuseing Absurdity In BeTwixt The Smoke And The Teeth,
Fogging Up The Parting Valley’d Sea,
With One Last Toke On The Bell’s Yoke,
Wishing For The Queen Of Mermaids To Gasp Lovingly…

And So I Leapt…

Immortalized In Defeat,
With The Lessons Won.

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