asia-marquetteWhisper

Canadian
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at workI met a man today, / with a great triangular moustache, / and a carpet of a beard,
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borderLets fly to the edge of that map that hangs on my wall, / The little border, / ribbons of navy and maroon will be our vessel of freedom.
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horizonI never really took note, / of how the trees reach their fingers into the clouds and fondle them. / Clawing and ripping,
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...We fight for death, / and we are forced into submission. / Our suicide is gently taken away from us
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Right There!I find bits of poetry in my bed. / Who left them there? / They smell of neroli and wax...
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In BloomI imagine a neck, / Split open like a flower / with many crimson petals,
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evolutionLets dissect ourselves, / Extinguish our flame, / And eat our electricity.
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With AgeThe images my eyes have absorbed will dilute; / only a residual stain will be left. / My senses will soften and lend themselves to my imagination;
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Me ThinksI see his fingers lapsing, / vibrating, / fumbling,
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dirt of loveI look back at the clutter of the shadow, / Still black with interruptions of window, / and great, heaving plumes of molten air.
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