the rabbit coughs. hungry muscles tease the sun. the fall paints her. a series of colors. each one darker than the last. permanent ink on transient skin. a paradox of temptations. thick with choking zippers and blunted needles.
there are only so many words. for the lost faces that beseech. shakey steps to a paradise of questionable origins. the stilted arithmetic of lovers. as we subtract ourselves from the moment.
hot ovens hungry for witches. candy houses thirsty for lost children. paradise found in torn paper. and lost in the folds.
negotiating with the machine. the futile mechanics of touch. pretending to know. how shallow the drowning is. the trembling depths. of waiting. for the world to end.
dull pencils. a fairy tale of choices. giving names to the dead.
the fundatmental progression. wolf to pig. witch to woodsman. chains speaking. prisons still deaf.
we are only angles. soft corners in the skin. drawing their maps. in blood and semen.
heaven close enough to grab. but too slippery to hold.
Thursday
7/04/2013 01:18:00 AM
| Life Poems |