Thursday, February 14, 2008

from work springs forth bad poetry

how strange that I should be the one to go
words wrenched from clenched
lips
in a breath
to ashes upon the tongue
puppets mock
the mute living
tracing the complexion of the heart
the terrain of the skin
memories of forgotten fire
eyes seek eyes dance eyes flutter
yet do not meet
perhaps
I would rather have it
so

No comments: