not in the eyes, but stiffly in our
beds we weep. we’re like candy
nations or troubled bears, and we
don’t know where we can go
the moon-light gives us shadows
and the sun provides us pots and
pans, our mother fell on her knees
bent over a package of honey and
pencils for the longer days. nobody
wants to speak anymore.
if you can see me, come home or
run away or trip over a rotting log,
it’s like this: around here, we don’t
die but bloom as crazy redwoods
down the hills, up the gravestones
into chemical wishes and a fixed
image of a town. onto the rooves,
up the ladders they will never find
us and we leave no tracks, come
into the sky.














Comments
--
silvery light glints on fork and paper knives slow like butter smooth switch to a position more familiar on the rug, slept like dust mites dried and hanging on the fabric
Kate Lux...
--
"I have Dalinian thought: the one thing the world will never have enough of is the outrageous."
--
"I have Dalinian thought: the one thing the world will never have enough of is the outrageous."
--
"To perceive is to suffer."
-Aristotle
:iconincubus-hq:
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