it's cold in the shallows of our loss. a solvent departure from flesh and bone. we're animals in the written sense. meat and hunger in a grim symbiosis. Everything else is poetry. the whims of friction and circumstance. as they manipulate the lives we only chanced to live.
it's loud in the pivot. all our leverage lost. testing our scabs against the sharper corners. healed in only the most limited sense.
we're primates. not predators. most of us.
the slope accuses. we try to remember. when we were that high. if we ever were. and how far below the bottom sits.
we close the curtain. sick with the world. broken pencils stabbing at words just out of reach.
we spill into the shadows. ghosts of our own expectations.
dead for years.
Monday
9/02/2019 11:50:00 PM
| Life Poems |