This is not my Landscape

[SirBrendan]

This is not my Landscape (Edit 2.5)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts.
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape;
I am made of lead pipe.

This is not my Landscape (Edit 2) Thanks to everyone for their time and improvements

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost-ribboned speak, purple-flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered-skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt,
draped in refuge, carting scavenge balmed hearts.
Must they, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts?
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist-fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuse: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

This is not my Landscape (Edit 1)

They say, write from only river born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions.
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose,
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts.
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm;
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts.
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine.
Dressed in refuge: nuclear me singing
carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech.
Runaway dandy I, oiled up, clinging.
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe


This is not my Landscape (Original post)

They say, write from all of deep chest born truths
drenched in deluge, crest sunk, felted motions
Write in ghost ribboned speak, purple flowered prose
pink hearts bled red, watered skies and of starry oceans
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Caravans of tears emerge in feigned hurt
draped in refuse, scavenged feeling balmed hearts
Shall we, weeping gardens, clap with singled arm
satisfied now, wrapped in gold lilt, paint farts
This is not my landscape
I am made of lead pipe

Mack truck poetry, fist fucked love holes, that's mine
dressed in refuge, nuclear me singing
Carbon pressed joys, seismic measured hate speech
runaway dandy I, oil rig clinging
This is now my landscape
I am made of lead pipe