empty stretchers. surrounded by sirens. twisting paths. leading nowhere.
her jealous vices. stain the silence. broken pencils stabbing for certainty in a endless chaos of moments. each word an avalanche.
pieces just barely there. faint scratches in the glass. a distant world. familiar, yet lost. a page torn. a gap. in a story unfinished.
her weakness. her pleasure. one destination. two paths.
the subtle coax. the liberal charm. of imagination and want.
the ramp. the gentle angle to get on. the easy speed. of poetry. the innocent math. of touch. the hungry precision of the loneliness as it manipulates our velocity.
there is no map. there is no speed limit. only the peril of getting there.
spent matches still hot from the dead flame. to keep us warm.
seldom and sober. the creases in when. like melting crayons. in the echo of impatient skins. colors seeping. acqueiescent and humble. the fierce of weakness consumes. a cascade of pebbles in a funeral of boulders.
broken glass still clinging to the window's frame. cuts a trecherous path to seeing what's out there.
Sunday
1/19/2014 11:57:00 PM
| Life Poems |