Wednesday, August 6, 2008

ricket T
sub(merging)urban legs falling asleep into Zzz

how far removed
are wee
little ones running round the world
self rapport our own support
crumbling stucktures (structures
given to magnificent ornate shells where faulty foundations are well camouflaged
among repentance
the barbs fit tight around the skin
to tell us of our sins

we are self-infliction
amplified without definition
all afflictions become notorious
only suffering has a clear line defined
so says the man up high

down below
the crows tell a different story
where morning glory
begins when sleep (a small dose of death)
becomes a monument to erected detections
of old souls since ceased

seizing upon open eyelids
open graves and head stones
the gravedigger only nods to those who pass alive
he knows sin or no
the shovel of time will wait to abide

crow eyes
a wooden handle and soft ground

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