Thursday 6/06/2019 11:51:00 PM

someone said it quietly, though its nature was loud. pigtails on the scarecrow danced in the rain. choice shifted. truth evolved. we were tired of constantly searching for all the things we'd long ago found.

ink on the margins. spit in the bucket. tongues on the light switch. arranging their grief by the skew of atoms.

we danced. on the the rim of the world. waiting to fall.

the colors buzzed. all adrenalin and naked epiphanies. our voices mingled. bending. refracting. against the pivots of condition. fragile bridges struggling to govern the depths between then and now.

the storm was brief, but powerful. we confronted gravity with leaden skin. a catastrophe of expectations. as the heft of our want defeated our grip.

someone whispered. i could barely hear. but i knew the words. they'd always been there. waiting for someone to listen.

she broke the words. they crumbled like candy. a sweetly suffocating avalanche of needing what isn't ours.

a staircase in her chest. a fishhook in her memory. cataloging all the blunt metaphors that turn sharp. make us bleed.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.