the snake in the crayon hisses colors. chokes on grey. the spider in the song. listens with eight eyes. sees with none. moments spread. the sickness has us convinced it was there from the beginning.
we don't count the edges. crusts on the blade. we don't name the monsters. they wouldn't answer even if we did.
a fever of atoms. cut with sterno and resolve. vacant flames whittle the darkness down to bent arrows and pleated hearts. a vast paper kingdom drowning in ink.
clay castles wear the rain. in comely grins. time twists, but never bends. empty robes flaunt the invisible emperor. temples of skin dense with sinew. the taste is a reflex. the swallow is a villain. the woods are everywhere. filled with witches.
simple candy houses that stroke the sun. in a long series of molested moments. grey gods with their hands in their pockets. assuming they have purchase.
on what has no price.
reason would let her die. passion would insist she live.
the numbers inbetween are anyone's guess.
the atoms expire in a maze of cunt and tits. the vacant beauty of breath. overcomes. ardent pieces surrender to division.
Friday
2/15/2013 11:24:00 PM
| Life Poems |