He was speaking in skins. Lifting weights on every breath. Waiting for the rotten fruit to become edible again. Bartenders in some fairy tale of blinking eyes that never happen to see what's staring at them.
Hearing the stop sign, but deciding not to listen.
Life. Like bubble gum breaking between careless lips. Stuck to faces that quickly forget.
Laughing sadly about the many haunted houses we've slept in to get to this one.
The stones seek their language. In bit and pieces. The doctor is overcome by his medicines. Tongues. Like treasure maps. Counting the steps to heaven.
She imagines the cradle in the tree rocking. Full of hope someone has to hate.
Pop!
She continues chewing her gum. She loves the taste of nothing.
Cupid's on heroin saving up the methadone.
Wednesday
2/27/2008 02:38:00 AM
| Life Poems |