Thursday 3/11/2010 12:22:00 AM

The diamonds in the sky seem small from this far away. They're no bigger close up a disembodied voice explains.

The earthquake doesn't happen. It always there but I only feel it sometimes. The disaster is not sudden. I just ignore it for as long as I can. Hot water on the stove. Little packets of dead leaves waiting. For the pain to bring them back to life.

We swallow. As if all these small things belong to us. We take. Assuming it is our right. To consume the leaves we can pick. To eat the animals we can tame. To run the world as we see fit.

True. The world is ours to take. But what will we do once we've used it up.

She fills her nights composing manic fairy tales. She clutters her gallows with anemic protagonists. Half villain. Half hero. Not remotely whole.

Telling her stories in jagged truths and fetid opinions. Chasing the truth away in sticky zippers.

0 comments:


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