broken suitors. arrogant monkeys. polish their dice. dalliant victims of the surging throng. evidence. purchases the eyes. in patterns. in needles. in the torn capes of heroes. and the smudged makeup of villains.
the night worships. a scripture of skin. a thunder of surrender. by which to to name their gods. ugly doors. content in the empty of the faces. that watch them. forgetting.
years like rope. scratch the necks. of dead dolls. still on trial. for the crimes of their thumbs. time chews. dull fangs still dig for the blood. life is always as close as it is far. loud stop signs and quiet landmarks. in a race around a colorless world. Boxes and equations. Carve out their art. From small stones in the dirt that surrounds.
The series follows her as she chases. The quake of numbers that erupts from flesh. The panic of tomorrow that swallows her past.
precious hours fight the slip gravity. as she teases the edge.
Friday
2/03/2012 12:32:00 AM
Sad Labels:
daunted
,
math
,
uncertainty
,
weakness
| Life Poems |