her empty bucket follows her down the hill. in a hysteria of gravity she disappears. All of her words blinked away in the certainty of skin. Words vanish into the stale ozone of touch. the pollution of consciousness is eliminated. She never was. Never has been.
no names. no years. no heavy brick houses to keep her inside. she is gone. evaporated through the chains of her bone and blood. not there. never was. just her lips like a sharp pencil tracing the darkness. free at last.
the blunt of sound not jarring. the tug of words powerless. the world is small and distant. One tiny pebble in an ocean of discontent. A single raindrop in a flood of confessions.
she is small. and so far away. stumbling through a colorless garden.
Thursday
4/19/2012 01:31:00 AM
| Life Poems |