Thursday 1/05/2012 12:16:00 AM

yellow windows surround her. naked. hurried. without anchor. adrift.

her world is flat. not spherical in the least. and she is always close to the edge.

gravity bickers with logic. if the world ends does it still apply. can she fall off. or will she just float. suspended there. in the timeless yawn of naught.

skin poses as years and begins to ask questions.

starts to count. the dirty tiles on the bathroom floor. as the hours vomit. high on the mechanics of how. weakness spills into salvation.

blue walls make a room. gentle. shivering. without a constant. the world is flat. and small. and shrinking fast.

i wake up inside her. the years a drought. the moment a flood. deformed by her faces. drowning in her masks.

small cuts build a roof. but the rain still finds its way in.

0 comments:


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