Thursday 12/02/2010 01:26:00 AM

Contraptions. The assembly of chance. As it chokes down the formulas. Switches. In the on. Telling stories bigger than the words. Switches. In the off. Cradling the concept. In a long array of negatives. As the darkness continues to multiply.

Studying the limping dogs she concludes that the random is deliberate. The snuff of subtraction. Measures the absence of the flame.

Stomping through the empty garden. She blames the sky. So many seeds and nothing sprouted. In bursts of skin as bright as they are weighted. In fetching choices she remains. Peeking. Tugging on that dirty bandage.

For a glimpse of the scars that fuel this machine.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.