soft hammers pound the hard nails. the lens trembles. sick with sight. the scale wretches. spoiled by gravity. we continue counting. all through the nightmares and the waking up. determined ghosts. still in the clothes they've lost.
shy predators press their fangs to the glass. the ceiling low and transparent. but not without its locks.
the hours choke on the geometry of flesh. a dissonant sybiosis. shapes and colors. maps and distance. a fever of when. like stones against the broken glass. no resistance. just empty spectacle.
the weather turns. the paper gives. creases and valleys. the stilted science of surrender.
her purchase only a narrow shaft of moonlight. her choices more slender still.
the vex of time truant of the flesh. we tumble. arrogant in our freedom. ignoring gravity's chains.
vacant cellars boast their paper dolls and fraying ghosts. The empty arithmetic of all the strangers she used to know.
Monday
7/29/2013 12:06:00 AM
| Life Poems |