Little girls in their beds. Stories told not withstanding. The action continues. The movie in her head muted. The vampire seduces the witch. A bite. A spell. A broomstick. No love for the human. The dialogue is improved, but no one listens. When the attic talks of ghosts.
The day confessed. Broken turnstiles. As the flood of skin proceeded. To empty trains. Stubbornly going nowhere. She tested its fangs as the rabbit sneered. What race she asked. Unclear on the destination.
Wearing her surrender in loose belts on heavy engines. The kinetics whine as she does nothing. Measuring the distance. souvenirs. What years are left after the time machine breaks down. Stranded. She pulls the integer from the condom and fits it into the math.
Division always comes unexpected. I can never remember. When I started counting.
Sunday
9/13/2009 01:40:00 AM
Sad Labels:
free form
,
manic
,
time travel
| Life Poems |