Tuesday, October 9, 2007

fixed in parenthesis

history nourishes broken swings while lovers
bring gifts of cut-out, disposable

hearts to walk, scissors in hand with this army
to win the battle of love but

lovers never win and blue skies often rot into a
reprehensible burial ground of paper mached souls

from the funeral, weeping willows walk through
labyrinths, lanterns-lit, just enough to glow pale

flesh to hope, but leaving stomachs clenched for earth-
quakes. they shuffle with blistered palms

until two meet with incompatible motives in common
brows and begin to cook this raw creation. anchors

drop as they breath water into wordless cups
voices learn to drink the tears. trades made of

cleavers for touches, until time's stare brings
the slaughter,
bleeding the slits from each other's wrists