Saturday, 9 February 2008

Bunker Spreckels.

Mirror Doors

The mirror hides the key to
open desperate doors that lead
to long forgotten rooms
shrouded deep in tombs.

While now there's this heat
beneath my skin that's hotter
than the blazing sun.

My blue jean jacket's got
a rip and I'm standing on an
icy floor waiting for the evil
phantom rains to overload
the oceans.

The mirrors hide the key that
opens desperate doors I've
been pounding, kicking, clawing
since the dawn.

A mirror breaking behind the
ageless door.
Glass and keys hit the
floorless floor
setting things in motion.

Total secrets falling beyond those
mirrored shores. Roaring winds
whipping up the ocean
raging fires stolen from their spark
never to be found in the sterile dark.

-A.B. Spreckels 1949 - 1977
Lived every day like it was his last.

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