the partial eye in her head. hides its blindness with careful and astute accusations. those breadcrumbs are still there. after years in the woods. not knowing. the end from the beginning. as weak as she is, they are no different. as cold as it gets. she knows the burning is only a breath away.
drowning in orange. reveling in red. the colors know. but don't tell. the fairy tales concealed under her weighted eyelids. in a dream she tames a dinosaur. in her bed she finds the source of god.
buzzing flies and caught fish. rotting on a this pile of moments the mind collects. a dose of manure. a flicker of narcotics. to solve this ancient puzzle.
we are the witches. hungry for skin. we are the oven. too hot to live. we are the children our parents abandoned in the forest. we are the woodsmen who find those orphans with our axes. and know not what to do with them.
escaping the fire only to drown slowly in the ocean.
Sunday
9/12/2010 12:41:00 AM
Sad Labels:
alternate universes
,
introspect
,
philosophy
| Life Poems |