One sermon is enough. The night ferments and guilt is distilled from. Lips tug hard on the last of those bubbles. The empty container begs to be replenished.
Especially since.
We calculate time as it does us. Tabulating reasons to live as death confronts.
In the darkness its face does form. In your solitude you remember how close you once were to. That blade as it caressed your skin. And promised to open every vein one knot at time until there were only echoes left in.
One night tells more. Another tells me less. But the voice I need to hear says nothing since.
The hour is propelled by the lunge of your loneliness. As it feels for that switch. To turn on again all those dark fixtures.
The hue of my skin is paler now. The gallop of my heart somewhat crippled. As it runs on across fields parched. And tramples every flower in.
To stop now would leave me so the same. To continue no different.
So I go where memory neglects. And still is given time to heal like a broken bone within its cast.
Tuesday
1/03/2006 11:06:00 PM
You write so beautifully, you truly do. I read your pain and your love-loss (ex) and still you maintain something that intrigues and stirs. I wonder if you know this?? You may be an alcoholic, maybe lonely, maybe many sad things that go with all of the above, but you are a master of words.I wish and hope that one day you might share more of them....
Happy new year......
thanx artiste. you ever make that visual interpretation of my words like you said?
a poet is all kindsa bad things, inevitably, but a poet above all else nevertheless. good thing or bad thing... i'm not sure.
do you have a website where your feature your art? i'd like to see it.
i actually do write in other places and am a visual artist as well. i can't link that here, for the sake of anonymity. but you can email me at softermaniac at gmail dot com if you'd like.
best wishes.
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