Monday 11/10/2014 12:12:00 AM

the edges overtake and the margins disappear. she follows the wind. as the cold whispers destinations. wearing the distance in scabs and antonyms. the hungry colors. the thirsty greys. the elegant madness of want.

all fire and sirens. and waiting for the folds to sink. an autonomy of despair. too quiet to ignore.

her wrinkled socks. her dirty underwear. spoiled matches in the seduction of the darkness.

it's never had a name. it's never been drawn on paper. the art that is grief. the symphony that is need. the angles strain and fail to reach. the shadows attempt to negotiate an impossible debt.

the moment is small. the tangents of gods stricken with humanity.  everything is borrowed. and all debts are eventually paid.


we were young once. we were paper. fragile, empty and omnipotent. we were small. swallowing the world in kicks and scratches. now we are old and gravity only tolerates us.

the leaves fall and we try to catch them. but there are too many.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.