Wednesday 2/26/2014 12:40:00 AM

the bark on her sigh. thick sober molasses. dark. sweet. and suffocating. can't swallow. can't. breathe through it. the dense soldiers of why. the soft machine guns of if. a quiet conflict. so loud. with ridiculous choices.

the hours spent. angles on the chase. cold blankets as the bed consumes our flesh. this skin a hollow cocoon. these bones not enough. a stalled metamorphosis. the beautiful laments of strangers and sex.

little dolls. their frozen fingers. forever clutching. what doesn't exist. the pace. the footsteps of when. time. knowing. like some awful vaccine. curing me of this most wonderful of diseases.

the paradox of touch. that it always takes more than it gives. that it multiplies our desires. and divides our trust.

the edge has its uses. gravity boasts its allure. falling becomes us.

naive time machines. of tangled threads and empty needles. deep, filthy rivers of lost. foul maps to navigate these crumbling walls.

1 comments:
Randal A. Burd, Jr. said...

I made a new poetry video and would appreciate your feedback. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1UFZsefwSI This is “Journey’s End,” a poem describing the “out of body” experience my late maternal grandfather recounted after having open-heart surgery in the 1990s. He described it as very real — more vivid than a dream — and I wrote this poem to record his experience.



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