In the closet we called a pantry. Sustenance as geometric as our hunger was. Packaged in boxes and sold two for the price of one. On the tired shelves. In the fallopian darkness life waited for the seal to be broken.
In the bedroom we called a home. Beds as empty as we were. Old nags chauffering the saddle in the gauges of their spines. Chastity belts in every wrinkle. Photographs of time taken by the skin.
The stop-motion animation that is life. Every tiny movement an elaborate production. Fits of juliet in every plaintive touch.
In the condom in the wastebasket. Evidence. Of my future drowning in the vomit from a penis.
Wednesday
1/10/2007 11:22:00 PM
| Life Poems |