Thursday 5/31/2012 11:36:00 PM

it's nothing. sweet apples discard their skins. to try teeth and lips on for size. the stem looks for the center.

distance offers measure, but always runs too far ahead. she wears her eyes upside down. because that is the nature of progress. something coming closer. even if it's only the end.

gravity scrapes at her shins. trying to hold on. she drifts. gradually. Time scratches. Life claws. but there's nothing left inside her. she's weightless.

it's everything. tart melons fuss with the locks on heaven's chamber. while those inside devour the meat the Earth has accumulated.

hours pretend focus as the minutes degrade into years. the frantic math of bone pierces her skin. in broken kites and bleeding nipples the numbers solve her. like the petals torn from a flower.

0 comments:


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