The Glass Bead

Age died amongst life,
bent by our small defeats.
Resigned for pictures
we sucked on their tits,
cheeks bloody glowing
lips locked on sweetness.

The world became a movie,
the camera never lying still
beside our restless bodies.
A mechanical mating
between the twitching wrist
and the velvet cuffs.

Boned down to the back,
flaccid beings bending
in the twisters cracking whip.
Knees bent before the screen,
glowing in the darkness
now daylight is their dream.


John.G.Hall©2003