she always went too far. cotton mouthed whispers caught in the crease of the scream. empty eyed predators. crippled by the enormity of their hunger. defeated by the clutch of the perpendicular. lost in the sway of the calm.
the chew of the moment took her. the grip of distance. the ache of the stone. the fever of the wind. the impotent rage of such a simple sickness.
the yolk. the crux. still soft. it bleeds beautifully. smothering every surface in its perfect trauma. the timid monsters draw the maps. adjacent to paradise. with no way inside.
the obvious angles. the skeptical math. as if there is a proximity. some measure of if to define this sparse scale.
all the predictable colors of skin. like dirty knives. the ugly tools of arrogant deists.
the chaos of when. all those random voices. getting louder.the habits of humanity. timid treasons.
Wednesday
11/04/2015 11:43:00 PM
| Life Poems |