Thursday, April 22, 2010


when she says blubber
i know to snub her.

if she mentions beauty
i think incongruity.

as she talks of comfort
i imagine a familiar form -
snailing, snuggling, scuffling you.

she waits at the cusp,
between dawn and dusk,
between tomorrow and tomorrow,
as i vanish into dusty death.

she lays photograph after photograph
like petals for me to walk on.

i watch, straddling mind's webbed feet;
each photograph the ghost of a single past
ready to haunt future memories.

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