April 10, 2011


They think they can fly
Spilled blood
Of contrived histories
Fill polished silver
My last breath
Is air in bubbles
Thoughts on paper
Never realizing purity
In every soul raped
Under that same moon
That put us here
Tethered in escapeless rotation
The endless joke
On me
In clenched throats
And between reddened teeth
Life swallows
One at a time
Beads and stones
Pass hand to greased hand
Like gods

No comments: