Saturday 1/29/2011 12:21:00 AM

cradling the demon. the salt still on her tongue. as she licks the wounds. candy houses perpetuate the myth. of salvation. the hiss of the engine. propelling nothing. the whince of the brakes. as we stop again.

in the empty space between villain and victim. where all lovers live.

her cardboard skin. undone by the rain. it's just a storm. amongst many. anothera footprint on her grave. a jumble of ghosts. toting empty baskets.

The picnic already over. Her gods all in heels. Tripping over themsleves. A little friction on the matchbook. is light enough.

To determine the depth of the darkness.

0 comments:


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