Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Another poem from Flowers and Vice


Sifting dust with my soul
proffered forth in cupped hands
Threads of blood and thick gray dust
chips of bone and sweat
and rust

Sodden mud; the tears of anger
fall through clutching hands

Bitter salt in soul`s revealing
dryness freed and yet undone
Turn away in foul loathing.

Thin and cold and dead and done.



Well that was a cheery year.

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