listen to the dead. their words precede us. fractions of when overlooked among chapters of how. trust the hopeless. they have no reason to deceive. petulant buoys adrift in the gap between lost and found.
the bursting lenses. obstinate matadors spoiling the horns. eyes struggle to see, but continue to fail.
her victims. all wet ink and wrinkled pages. inspiration's hungry theives. sexuality's appealing vultures.
the wet blade. the sharp of the paragraph's edge. all her silly monsters. counting their ropes.
just the remaining colors. some awkward metaphor.
all devils without their horns. and places trying to find people. .
Monday
3/02/2015 12:18:00 AM
| Life Poems |