her broken ice. her shivering numbers. naming the clouds. in deafening consonants. the end of the world. smudged pencil and solvent storms. her fingers hurry over the letters. as the words confess.
a man is only the sum of his choices. a moment is just the spark. life bends and twists. nagivating the tunnels of our discontent. bent neeldes. ripe with all the poisons worth covetting.
the diagram. the mystery of the window. as it breathes open. to let the foul in. dead things like pieces of treasure. and diaappointment in its tuxedo. as handsome as ever.
she takes the pill. wishing it would take her instead. the vague conundrum of displacement. chokes on the volume it's meant to measure.
the nothing names her. loud acrobats tumble. in soft colors. in steep angles. the wolf inhales.the piglets wait. to find out if the house is still standing.
life happens. in knotted ropes. and radomn colors. a desperate admission of skin. undoes the knots. bargains with gravity. the slope of surrender. the condition of apathy. the same homogenous blend of blood and god that have always failed us.
the broken bread. in chaffing flesh. the scraping how. in itching scabs.
there are easier paths. there are stronger threads.
but the machine knows us. better than we do each other. the motor bites down. threatening to expose those tender corners.
Saturday
11/30/2013 01:16:00 AM
| Life Poems |