Sunday 9/16/2007 02:00:00 AM

Dreams to sleep enough. Porcelain collars on steel necks. The nightmare wore its best gown for the occasion. Confident heels clicked all the way up the stairs. Until the door made us deaf.

There were heroes. In damp boots. Villains in moldy capes. All drawn across the moment in thick outlines. Nervous to be colored in.

The quake of sex. In pungent packets of fetid potpourri. Spoiled perfume of the lonely. dropping its dirty pennies into empty graves. The number there on her cheek in blisters bright and clear.

A backyard full of men still to be planted. She tilts her empty watering can toward the dying seeds.

Answer. Answer me.

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