Sunday, October 11, 2009

.143

the ambivalence
is measured out
like jiggered
cocktails.

I rot
from the nearby sea
like brown
and red driftwood

where when the sand embraces
and the salt mist surrounds
it's a
perfect day

Without thoughts of
recourse or counterpoint,
Without screed or creed
I stumbled cross
The parched pavement-
where once green things grew,
but now are paper maiche'd and
stuck together with clumps of re-melted wax

Looking, a glance,
I continue to hurt
where the top and bottom
get cut up and off and

sliced through
like a thoroughbred's ligaments
when they're
lame and useless.

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