darkenedserenity

The bearings of my soul
2003-04-28 20:52:24 (UTC)

Emotional Landslide

His thoughts boiling oil,
lurching forward, ebbing back.
A romantic drudgery
of trembling soggy fingers
gripping the soaked mass
of rusted helixes
and once-resilient tissue.

A History saturated with machine-picked cotton
and slaughter house feathers
(a refuse of the most timid type)

and plastic sheets molded round,
fitted just right.
A history of fitful nights.

and of vanity
she stated as she lay,
the line between my outer thigh and heaven
is nonexistent'
and shares exhausted
in fiery screams.

Words written and crossed out
a hundred times
until perfect
for never reading.
Nights spent in light sleep
interrupted by
mid-night
wide-eyed,
sit-up-straight
and sweat ice
moments,
until the mattress wears thin,
the quilting comes undone,
the springs jut through
into bare back, bony spine, slick ribs.

A History,
hauled across a wet concrete metroscape,
pin-jabbed by slating rain.




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