the passing
In the browning dish of the American mountains I gaze upwards to find
liquid light fill to the brim. It drips down leaves and onto the ground which
spurts flowers, yellow golden flowers that dance to the sound of the wind.
I wake from this bedazzled dream, frozen, and glued to the window. A
tranquil scene takes my mind far away. I lose mine and look for others to
rejoice in.
I’ve lost all hope and find no solitude in myself, my thoughts fill like
balloons and pop. Kernels that were supposed to be sweet, suddenly become
sour from the sweat of my brow.
I’m caught up in the web that I spun to catch my enemies. Snow shoes
simply don’t save souls anymore, step slowly into seeping sadness, surely
she knows that she will not be saved.
Hammered nails into a wall. Tie a string to connect the dots. Stand on a
chair, hope you fall. Think of one, lose your thoughts.
The cracks enlarge, the crack at large. Burning smell of teeth, flaming
lips, stinking breath swimming in lust, saliva breaks down your poor-man’s
pineapple, or is it the other way around?
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