Sunday 1/21/2007 12:06:00 AM

I assumed he'd see the grief in the bias of my cheekbones. The split of my lips. The cold wind to be my biographer. The new year my fiance.

We being. The discards of so many intimate encounters. Leftovers. Broken ladders up to heaven.

In the blue. In the green. The whisper of life amongst so many graves. The stones. Weighted shadows marching calmly. Sold to their prayers.

The snake in our ammonia. Cleansing its venom.

Liars and friends still undecided.

1 comments:
Anonymous said...

this poem is fucken crap like the stuff u poo out fucken this poem and who made it



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