Her dress being bored with her she took it off. In bits and pieces. Like dissassembling a giant jigsaw. Words are pretentious. Or otherwise self-serving. Still, I have nothing else to offer. Thoughts. Bloody tampons I'm afraid to discard.
The life inside my abdomen cycling. On and off. In graceless spasms of missing children. And people forgotten. Or at least I tried to. Forget.
Sleepy gods on ambivalent crutches hurrying the legless along. In arrogant parades that only make it that much harder to get home.
I can't take everyhing off, but I can still be undressed.
The dead match promising to light your last cigarette,
Thursday
2/21/2008 12:32:00 AM
The pages from your womb are hoping to give birth to the moon...but it is saturn that your eyes are turned to. So its going to be austere.
Anyway as usual you numb the sad skin....and the sadness escapes somehow.
your writing is breathtaking. i love it. it's real and whimsical and tragic and beautiful all at the same time. bravo
your writing is breathtaking. i love it. it's real and whimsical and tragic and beautiful all at the same time. bravo
Post a Comment