Thursday, May 21, 2009

The continuous search for truth
rips, slits, and soothes…

like a journey on ice it slides
towards the horizon far.

We each a turgid ragamuffin
who dare to bend; stretch

the cartilage or pull a muscle.
Rigor mortis coming in

to teach us a tale or two.
Sun spreads her fiery arms

to embrace, to burn, to bone
each shy squalid heart-excuse.

The rest of us cough like pilgrims
and decant our tales like sherry.


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