shadows smoke
the soul,
and spill into skull’s
yawning holes,
filling up the globe ’til
tension’s wound
onto spool,
pigments of
the soul,
drip from
steamy holes,
into a deeper,
brighter
pool,
come swim your mind
from its dry
rule.
Grumpy Gorman
igram: https://www.instagram.com/grumpygorman/?hl=en
…a no rule pool.
