Saturday, January 24, 2009

a quaking wren, a rarebit friend, a quilt, a pear, and a leaving.

as pretty as shadow and milk,
black and honey,
you stole my under flesh covering,
wore it 'round your head like thorns,
and took it upon yourself
to drag our weight
with no lift from your shoulders. 
maybe you knew something i didn't. 
a soft conquering,
candy to conjure me,
your words are weighted,
so you coughed and coughed out tons of tongues
and i stubbed my toes where they had fallen.
there were words i'd blow like balloons,
to lift our tones and float our rhetoric,
but a smoke filled my lungs and word bubbles,
pushed its way through my lips to slip
and dribble like a Dali clock.
again, to fall like an old birthday.

but your arms are of a cool burning;
forged in dying suns and sinking star births,
so each morning we found a way up. 

your heated hands shook my frame out of habit,
and took it upon themselves to drag our spirit down     and    o   u     t

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