It's only a life. Strangers at every corner with lipstick on their groins. Alarm clocks on their lips. The apple driven to its poison. On tall slopes of skin slick with science. The press of the flesh hard against the seam. The weight of the the glass as the ceiling looms above.
It's so bright. I can't see anything.
Her groggy thighs just waking up. To the radiance of careless words. The tornado comes suddenly. A feast of destruction upon which to gorge. Making words from broken letters. Drawing paths in fervent storms.
She dreams of viruses, bacteria and penicillin. The disease comes in increments. So that you never know you are afflicted.Her dress falls off her shoulders. As she argues with the cure.
She stumbles fearlessly. Through the dark of the theater. As the film ignores her. She takes an empty seat. Close to the screen.
Only interested in the end.
Saturday
6/06/2009 12:16:00 AM
| Life Poems |