the color of her tulip rarely changes. nervous monsters humbled by the spectacle.
the cage becomes its animal. panting metal. finds comfort in blood.
their choices belonging to things they cannot see. atoms and molecules. and the science of strangers. years like a pendulum. swayed by the thrust of inertia. indifferent to the force that gave it that first push.
her grave is impatient. as she lingers on his eulogy. she's closer to it every day, even with all those people that get in the way.
the slope. the simple surrender. that distorts the cliff. as she calculates the slender distance. between heroes and villains. and the monsters they choose to worship.
the colors. the prism of skin. that works to refract. the dull light that pierces. these stubborn caverns.
the madmen. with their tunnels collapsing. the addicts with their dwindling heavens.
selling lost for a profit.
Sunday
2/19/2012 01:04:00 AM
| Life Poems |