Sunday, May 9, 2010

Nightmares

I’m too serious of a lier


to be taken seriously.


I don’t understand,


and that’s a confession.



My ideas are almost

almost always

about love.

Burn your tongue,

you don’t even know what that means.


Child, she wishes under her breath

to a portrait.


She sees someone unfamiliar;



A catapulted story

sent over a bridge that’s

loosing it’s sacred foundations.


I dream about burnt nun’s

resulted from a war.

I am identifying bodies.

They are all so small

and still dressed in ashy nightgowns.



The smell is repulsive.


And the sight is


honest;


In all it’s disgusting truth.



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