Tuesday 4/16/2013 12:55:00 AM

the fist in the stone. time's mongrels hunt and wail. the bridges flutter. the tunnel vomits. where we go is who we are. vexed by the land upon which we travel. thieves surrounded by paupers.

the telemetry of her autumn is soft and sloping. the colors change. nothing else. the years are fickle lovers. more bargain than bone.

stuttering armies of flesh and words. empty their guns into knotted veins. electric scars and stubborn needles. more sickness than cure. her gentle scarecrows weeping. as the scavengers catch on.

knuckles to the turbines of the machine. the twisting gears. the thundering deceit. the science betrays. as she slips out of her skin.

the hour runs with choking thieves.

chasing reluctant heroes.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.