Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Stationed

Wild in my shoes
sunk under the eyes,
I find nothing to hold me down
to stop me from laying under this train.
And though I don't want to be pummeled,
there is no energy to sit up
and witness another great sunset.

Who to find, a hand in the mirror
left short again.
Left with the darkness creeping up my toes, my ankles,
legs wrecked as the saw thins them,
this skin I feign to lose.

Who to hold and toss
a lapse in blood, skin is like a mangy web
folicles of hair left red from dye,
and maybe an eyelid to push shut.
Keep the smoke out,
silence the soul.

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