Wednesday 3/20/2013 12:51:00 AM

soft stones brave the black in a fury of skin. the last edge. the paper blade cuts with sharp treason. she writes the hours in orphans and curs. temples culled from deepest marauders.

name the monster as you will. in pale thunders tame or crushing reds. it bites just the same. fight the wind or let it take you. same jaws. slightly different chew.

the choking clock flaunts its power. spurred by willing slaves. the hours fall to fetid bullets. love and other such unkind things. that steal heaven from bastards and martyrs.

her small machine rumbles and quakes. slight of gods, but thick with purpose. her dress falls away. her flesh dissolves.

until she is only bone. the hard edge of a breath. stolen from the shadows.

the arithemitic of flesh. counting backward.

the innocence of an atom. as it explodes.

0 comments:


| Sad Poems |
Newer Poems | Alcoholic Poet Home | Older Poems


| Sad Poems |



copyright 2005-2014. all rights reserved.