Tuesday, April 03, 2012

Life In A Disarranged Home

Bury the day’s remains in the folds of Ella’s voice, Satch’s brash.
Arrange morning’s events in the drawer of alleys, ill-lit,
skittish memories, row on row.

The idol of Christ in black and white maid’s costume crouches
by the window, back turned to the iron water ribbon,
where frail crafts negotiate like money lenders.

This sunset, I am motorcycle navigating curves
on gravel road.  Barbed-wire fences are crown.
A street sign is named desire, another vinegar.

And the sun breaking free is a leaked drop of blood.
And music paints the atmosphere, a cover enclosing words,
a force rolling away a stone to reveal.

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