Saturday 2/20/2010 12:11:00 AM

The antonyms still evolving as she makes her way through the grimoire. Shuttered closets tease the skin. With long division. And monsters whose faces are too familiar.

The arrow waits for its moment. As her heart tumbles on. Avoiding the measures of time. Like a child escapes it bedtime.

Awake and wondering. What these walls keep out. What they keep in.

She is left with. Obvious strangers. And the years it took. To forget them.

Touch and all its grim dictators. Selling their time machines. As if anyone would want to buy them.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.