EPTLyrics
The clocks tick away the rubber soles of retrofitted boots.
Cheap cloaks take root into the ground
and salamanders spin their wheels
while the red brick ovens stand and judge
“Guilty!” withers the vanilla tree,
its charcoal roots torn up by blind painters
and the Angel of Defiance.
Riding high,
the chariot sinks into the melted glass
and frozen sands of the barren parking lots
and shopping towers,
burrowing underground
like Roman bees into Greek sugarcombs;
literate stingers break poetry in stone walls
crusting with engraving moss and savage reef,
the waves of superstition softening.
Crumbling fires smelt ingenuity,
while the breaking backs of killer whales
crash desire into wrinkled eyes,
and marble crickets don their armor
to charge black bakeries with borrowed bayonets,
devouring littered lovers
as the sculptor’s hands delve the statue's curves.
Across the yard, honey-loving foams a wintry scene with bitterness
and languid lyrics lift our heads upright
stopping time.
