Friday 5/03/2013 12:36:00 AM

her paper skin. ripe. with so many small cuts. folded and bled. blank and afraid. the world claws and barks. silver nightmares slip and scream. on dusty carpets woven of shadows and grief. pressing the numbers. soft buttons of flesh. react and steal. she is gone again. into those seldom whispers that occur between the elapsing hours and dwindling years.

seeing only the colors. no outlines remain. to pretend there is order in the chaos.

indefinite randoms splurge on the science of entropy. this wonderous decay. which throttles each moment back to the first in a eternal apology.

bargaining with the weather for pieces of the sun. stabbing the walls for a missing window. she marvels at the emptiness of choices. she chokes on the frailty of decision.

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