Freitag, 6. August 2010

Verbs Aren't The Only Doing Words...

They came out jagged
as he rolled over. They came
scratching out of my throat and
perhaps my eyebrows and temples,
tumbling forward
through the bedsheets
to crash into the lamplight
welled in his right ear.
They came, vibrating, gyrating,
flying over his hidden face
tearing his eyes, kicking his nose,
shaking his lips.
Some dark, some blacker
some big, some larger
some loud, some louder
of mysterious source,
with mysterious cause,
alone yet in harness,
scattered yet fixed,
like stains, like stars, like
the moles on his back...


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