SHIVA

Idioms and idolatry 

Prophecies, apostrophes 
All mean absolutely nothing to me 
Honestly 
The Devil isn’t in the flesh, he’s in the filigree 
Revel in the reverie
Of in between breaths
Remarkably 
We should touch in degrees 
Don’t you agree? 
I have no idea where I should go
Yet, this mouthful of palpable 
Parables, mountains of gold 
Out beyond where infinite rivers flow
Bask in the ambiance, take in the afterglow
The pillar I was thrust upon, I wouldn’t know 
Mask me in the undertow 
And watch as these shivers slither through fingers 
Slivers of winter 
And a pound of snow 
A constantly ever changing internal dialogue could prove 
Whether or not I’m more alive than the other corpse in the room
Yet still somehow the pile of ashes continues to grow 
I’m too busy finding my third eye to notice the fumes 
Building up to take me home