animated corpses searching for their out-
line, we make love and tie it to a balloon
let the ribbon slip away
our handfuls, nothing
short of grasping, fish-
mouths puckered
arms outstretched
bodies wooden and spongy
hollowed out
getting stuffed
we merely seek a new sun
during the break of day
before internal pressure
pops the egg, and flames
dance upon the grave
turning in its grave
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment