Tuesday 5/12/2009 12:08:00 AM

The arrows on the wall. Always pointing somewhere. I've seen before. Reluctant prophets with broken jaws. Wear their wisdom's in fraying threads and empty skulls.

The dead tell their stories. In strobe lights and torn skin. She looks in the hole. Sees what was never out there. She falls. Into it. Grateful for the coma that follows.

Nothing. No one. Can find her. She charts the dimensions of the void. Carefully. So many creations to judge. All of them liars. Time has sharp teeth. Manipulating it only makes them sharper.

The scorpion with his last sting. Wakes her up. To tell her she is dying.

The emissary is dead. The wormhole is collapsed. We are stranded in this world. The snake bites. The lion roars. She stares at the stars trying to determine how far it is.

0 comments:


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