Thursday 3/04/2010 12:48:00 AM

Dimensions determined. By the absence of when. We were ever that young. That naive. As to believe. We would tell these stories without hurting.

The monster. The caution signs. Proliferating. In idle cuts. The drug. More myself than I am. Torn belts on her heavy pants. Test the scorch marks for evidence. That she was. And should be remembered.

The arrogant fantasies of stubborn fists. Imagining the world in circles. Seeing it in boxes. The story is geometric. More sides than I can keep up with. The autumn plays against the summer. As the winter persists.

Wanting comes in thick bundles of wet firewood. The ghosts check off the items on their to do list. Because sometimes it's just over.

She stands in line for her patent. Writing down every end she can think of. Knowing they've all be used.

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