Monday 2/22/2010 01:40:00 AM

She leaves me all the time, though still I see her there. The broken porches. The idling engines. Of predators without their claws. Light bulbs. Incandescent. Positing their measures. As her ass tips the scale. Writing her stories with a fingernail to the chalkboard. Falling asleep to tamazapam and old reruns.

I listen for the wind. As it pushes more things away. I wonder how the winter manages to go on when everything hates it.

The little birds in their tall trees. Telling their lives in broken eggs. The perception of the wolf. Is that he has eaten. Though no pigs are consumed. The reality of the worm is that the Earth is moved. Though still he remains in darkness.

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