|
It's in the stitches of soldiers:
The cacophony of darkness
burning, burning, burning
across roads where
old blood had been tripped
and spilled by
tar and ropes and bathrooms and colour.
Lips and eyes obese with caravans of cyanic drippings and hymns
to fuel your frame,
they tumble like vermillion horses.
It's the end of a stain
and the beginning of a new documentary
(coming to you via live telecast.)
Stopping staccato strides
they stand on
the street side:
A mouth can double as a picket fence,
sometimes.
...Eh
 maliceannie · Sun Dec 05, 2004 @ 02:50am · 0 Comments |
