Sunday 1/12/2014 12:26:00 AM

open books spill their stories into the silence. ladders in the wind. voices in a storm. the scales adjust. the weight is relative. the dead are always hungry. flesh is deaf. touch is an unquenchable thirst.

the colors stumble. infants learning to walk.

the moments fall. like raindrops. in a hurricane.

the wilting darknesss. blossoms. like so many suicides.

the impossible persistance of time. releases its poisons.

fingers. words. glances. all the broken scales. that attempt to measure. what was never there.

the horizon. the distance. an inevitable convergence. all beginnings melting into a central chaos.

desire. trust. lies the skin tells. hungry creases in old scars.

her laughing thighs. and weeping tits. the earnest soldiers of a long lost war.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.