the tentacles of darkness obey. the thumping chorus of blood and bone. empty elements. nameless wars. corners of the body twist and bend. only the edges are to be trusted. thin, grey pulpits ripe with fever and fetish.
the little man carrying the world in his pocket.
we measure in colors. we grieve in decimals. we live in fractions. the simplest disease is the deadliest. we cut our mazes through the tendons and the flesh. blades and bridges the same. only one way across. soft skeletons bear the weight. of godless men. and their simple saviors.
deep pockets in the surface. the drama asserts its resonance. a coy predator. with all fangs spent. the cliched conundrum. of beautiful girls in ugly dresses. a dirty vaccine against the purest sickness.
spoiled by the words. indebted to the touch. all our desires are forfeit.
Monday
10/28/2013 12:26:00 AM
| Life Poems |