she uses her time preparing the beginnings. and the ends. what's in between she leaves to chance. she wears the moon in drapes and syringes. a choke for the reluctant drug. a chaos of seams. in an ocean of thread.
the heavy colors refuse her. the round dials are impossible to grip. an epiphany of ignorance consumes her. as she waits in line for her lottery ticket.
folds in the hours. stern buckets boast their sand. the weight of the precipice. laughs as she loses her balance.
she's old now. she notices. she's weak too, she suspects. as those empty kisses brush her lips.
life is more machine than man. much more engine than it is skin. a trembling sieve. a flickering bulb. everything uncertain.
her stubborn ghosts. finally pause to listen. but there are no more words.
Sunday
10/20/2013 12:29:00 AM
| Life Poems |