Saturday 11/24/2012 01:06:00 AM

shaking fingers caress the storm. thin clouds skate the sun. tease the rain. tepid monsters in their dirty pajamas. negotiate with the bad dreams.

missing colors and wrinkled hats. the pierce of silence like medicine. she pretends to be alive. like they are. but her grave keeps getting in the way.

dull blades scrape the meat. dead things with their gaping songs and torn flags. empty wars with their missing bombs. and tired soldiers.

addition makes her weak. an optimist lacking apostles. subtraction makes her indifferent. a skeptic kicking the sand. division draws her bones. bent by the moments. the sharp angles that spoil the path.

she walks alone. following the numbers. crippled by the math.

0 comments:


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