Monday 11/11/2013 12:30:00 AM

simple stops. in the traffic that endures us. obvious pauses. in the skin that wears these eager archers. bones break. that is what they do. when confronted with the agendas of wandering ghosts.

clouds and thunderstorms. on the edge of when. the paths of strays. like broken kisses. and little dips in the fence.

her touch is eyelashes bleeding. knowing strangers. in their other skins. wearing the void like ball gowns. dancing to the rhythm of the silence. time's beveled corners. as blunt as ever. failing to indicate any course. the sting of the remedy is far worse than the sickness.

the sober of her devotion overwhelms. fetid despots of bone and blood assemble their armies. torn jigsaw pieces tender their puzzles. in deep cuts and worn folds.

the light turns. the bridge gapes open. we yield to the inappropriate mechanics of touch.

that is our strength and our burden.

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