Monday 3/28/2011 01:30:00 AM

how quietly sleeps the lamb inside the jaws of the lion. like ribbons undone on pretty packages. the blood demands choices. the skin speculates outcomes.

the wound swells. until cauterized by touch. the grace of wonder at the tender of her press. we climb our ladders in quicksand. The higher we rise, the faster we sink. the numbers tease. equations near to trust. the buoys dance among the rough waves. a series of small steps greater than the distance they span.

a lie. a color. the waning lantern. gentle with moments overlooked. a prison. a parchment. a game too often played. by poets and madmen.

eyes closed. hands empty. and arms weak with impatient reflections.

0 comments:


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