Saturday 2/13/2010 12:08:00 AM

Princes and frogs. Suit their skins to the occasion. It gets cold. Then cold still. Until we can understand the dead. Closets full of coats do nothing to ward off this winter. Fistfuls of salt devour the ice that would remind us of our steps.

The world stops. On the edge of the dime. The seconds we waste waiting for it to fall are infinite.

The monster at her window asks. How long has it been. Years. Maybe more she confesses. These moments. A tampon engorged with menstruation. Its blood seeping into my underwear.

The monsters everywhere. Trying on her dirty dresses. Teething time in fractions. The world in decimals. No multiplication to be found.

0 comments:


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