Sunday 3/20/2011 01:24:00 AM

sleep in earthquakes. the shudder of when. a clock expiring toward an empty climax. the lions on the plain. pushing down their hunger for the hunt. the hyenas at their backs. poised to take the spoils.

it's written not in words. the language of flesh. feigns depths it's yet to know. the blood insists. a heavy ink. on weightless pages.

as it is. all transients. temporary. pipers in the throngs of rats. songs that can only be heard after you stop listening for them.

her handkerchief around her neck. as she considers. the boasts of hours now impotent. skipping stones. on waters she has waded. crayon scribbles on oceans she has drowned in.

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