Sunday 4/15/2012 12:29:00 AM

dry ink under her fingernails. tells its stories. in chokes of orgasm. the fold. desire into skin. the thrust of the sale. the limp of the payment. as they combine. to make us smaller. dreadful suspicion. naive hunger. the end of the world in dirty dishes. and that dark place we have to keep them.

I was alone until all these strangers invaded my head. I was the world with all the lights out. the lost holding up their candy flame.

holes dug. skin like sheet metal.

That first poke. As the vein spread its legs to receive. this epiphany of this disease.

0 comments:


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