Lonely field of bones
White like cuts of bleached sky
Crunch like potato chips. Dry-
Wash your hands in chalk dust
Taste the bite of memories
Rinsed away like never-flesh
These pale bands don't hold life
Just the stick-snap sound
Of passing on.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
How do I lose myself?
I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...
-
She shares the blame For Adam's fall So secure, attractive Brilliant in a certain view The essence of Enlightenment I see her raise her ...
-
Final Thoughts From an AGM You want to mess with me? I can take you down a notch Spill the beans I’ll spill your blood Tooth for tooth, splo...
-
Standing on a Hillside Sometimes you look back on where you have been Past the cloud-fluffy daffodils bobbing and green Through the deep dar...
1 comment:
I really like this one. It's very different.
Post a Comment