Friday 12/01/2006 11:54:00 PM

There was a ceiling in his stare. That I could never touch. Such strict diseases and loose antidotes. He showed me his watch. My thoughts chased the second hand. As it played hopscotch across my heart.

We were perched on the edge of the bed. Little vultures debating the size of the carcass. The door wringing its hands. The knob trembling. Happiness drawing on the window in a halting lisp. Words so far away from where we were.

Gluttonous timelines bartering with minutes. Anorexic euphorias.

Always spitting us out.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.