Useful enough. On the dark side of that empty shelf. Where the moon sours in fits of blood. Paper dolls. With their eyes still to be drawn.
Fantasy for certain. The pendulum in her head. Counting hours long since elapsed. The footprints on the floor. A blurry map to a missing treasure.
The door locking quietly as she let go of the knob.
The girl in her high heels strutting with the fading song. I was there once. Duct tape and bloody fingernails painting pictures on her missing panties. The devil with a pitchfork made of glass. Begging someone to break it.
the atom expands. Steps and ladders to the science. Of dying things. And those that will not live.
Her lipstick chosen. Her fingers melted to the button. The places moments go. Where we can't chase them.
The empty shelf. Heavy with so many possessions.
Monday
8/10/2009 12:16:00 AM
| Life Poems |