Thursday 3/31/2011 12:56:00 AM

little wolves. on the last of their fangs. accuse the moon of treason. but the carcasses remain just where they lay. eager to be consumed.

weray claws confess. that the hunt is empty. hollow dolls bursting with blood. not the same.

she had always planned to keep her stories to herslef. dirty dresses to be taken off in private. sticky zipperseager for a tug.

snoring houses. full of rooms. burying her. as blizzard a would. her tiny shovel heavy with the whims of choices. three bears. come home. everything different. and only a ghost to blame.

the bricks as soft as paper. as the piglet builds. its weighted houses. a tale of dominoes.

Spaced too close.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.