Tuesday 12/16/2008 01:11:00 AM

When she was alone the chamber was pragmatic. Faster than light. Rushed enough. To beat the future to our palms. Escape that closing fist. When she was young naked seemed an easy task. Show them. The ugly of their assumptions. Pierce the cork. Drink. Lay the bear on its side. Like all the dead things we use to make us feel alive.

Naming the inanimate. In corroded containers the hungry call skin. The mortuary. Lover's call when. Torn gloves. Full bedpans. The dead asking far too many questions.

If we can go fast enough we can be there. Each hour. A zoo of men. Bargaining with their cages.

If we can move slow enough. Let time pass us by. Then we can wait. Convince this flesh that it will last long enough to save us.

From whatever is we are.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.