yellow dragons with their purple tongues. scrape the sky. solving monsters. with simple addition. gone. like apples lost from the tree. new to lips. slick with the juices. of theft. why it is. when it was. if it ever will be again. thin purchases made with rigid currency.
soft lies weave their stories. moist portraits bleed through cracking mirrors. she feeds the knife. bits of skin. as it constructs the skeleton from the missing pieces. a life more bartered than it is owned. a world more bone than it is flesh. so many pieces to put together. so few that seem to fit.
the cloud thunders. rages as a cloud must do. the rain comes down. condemned to gravity's selfish whims. they all. each raindrop. wind up on the ground. no matter the height from which they've fallen.
we pretend to decide. who is at fault. for this awful predicament. we shout and say we know why it hurts. but it's the reason that possesses us. wobbly bridges and tender branches. that leave us alone to sleep too close to the sun. flower petals in the pockets of men she hardly knew.
pink ribbons. loosely tied to the whisper of her words. gentle lies that soften the edges of overwhelming truths.
Sunday
6/10/2012 12:18:00 AM
| Life Poems |