words like small incisions. open the scabs. manipulate the wounds. hungry dolls struggle with their plastic tongues. smothered in the autonomy of skin. lost butterflies on the wings of a sneeze. it's always changing. the everything and the nothing. and the space between them. the winter and the summer. and the eternity that separates this moment and the next one.
i thought he was lonely, but i was wrong. a wolf in a soft bed. no needles. just the nightmares. sketches in the darkness. broken chairs at empty tables. and dead things following too loud.
the icicle melting. drip by drip. as the weather insists to devour. the chill. the sealed box. arrogant with uncertainty. the simple science of tomrrow. like lipstick on corpses.
never there. but always close. the weight of gods thickening her dreams. different. the same. her truth evolving. like heroin to hungry veins.
the primer. the insidious machine. thumping and scraping at the walls between. then and now. the engine. the rabid dog. growling and biting for a taste. beyond the source. fickle atoms and so many instances of us. a prism of choices. this life refracted. in every color.
the theory of the machine. the proof of the ghost in it. every lie telling us.
a pageant of flesh. the quiet solving. in burns and cuts. no stairs to climb. nor corridors to travel. only clay fingers unable to hold. and concrete toes. and vinegar tears. a lonely entrance. wide open. with no one there.
Saturday
4/27/2013 01:00:00 AM
| Life Poems |