the sword becomes dull.
the pen mightier draws blood.
talking heads eat us.
Archives for February 2012
stumbling smoke
white wet fluff on black.
the sun a burning bright smoke.
a cough and stumble.
gilded gaol
marx whispers to me.
his soft voice warm on my cheek.
hands in golden cuffs.
dead stones
gravel between toes.
thorns bristle along the path.
the flowers all dead.
shrouded soul
this bag of old flesh
is tired and threadbare cloth.
new shroud for the soul.
clock my heart
in the hollow room.
stethoscope cold on my heart.
tick tick goes the clock.