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s-a-knight-1Poems
“Every act has meaning. Accident is a word born of confusion.” –Agnes Whistling Elk Some memories are like crude graffiti some gray in museums still others, vulnerable chalk on the pavement all fade dawn makes no promises it never has If you’re afraid of what the night will bring, or worse, you know what it’s like to be young and out of control leaving a scent trail of blood and flowers for the monsters of yesterday to follow just let them the fighting makes me so tired Rust in the sun until rubies form cry through the night until you have diamonds pressure makes us perfect because it made the cracks that make us imperfect fear is ancient, normal, mundane even but fear is the anticoagulant Meanwhile, I am very busy construction’s going on in Hell disrupted by random clouds of revolting, revolving gravity knocking girders loose violent vertigo claiming kingdoms work horses slide into black holes yellow tape flails as white flags cranes arch and spark swing into the dark silky black tar bubbles, pops, seals everything is untimely interrupted and later ungainly speech mocks the tombstones growing in the lake Pain is like a good book so hard to put down separation of critical moments crystallize until everything has a compartment and no one can touch each other Decades old daydreams stink stale like sour seeds in green fruit lilies could grow out of so much manure. Rot bleeds through involuntary walls The past is sweating, afraid of what I know
0
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
Accident
“Every act has meaning. Accident is a word born of confusion.” –Agnes Whistling Elk Some memories are like crude graffiti some gray in museums still others, vulnerable chalk on the pavement all fade dawn makes no promises it never has If you’re afraid of what the night will bring, or worse, you know what it’s like to be young and out of control leaving a scent trail of blood and flowers for the monsters of yesterday to follow just let them the fighting makes me so tired Rust in the sun until rubies form cry through the night until you have diamonds pressure makes us perfect because it made the cracks that make us imperfect fear is ancient, normal, mundane even but fear is the anticoagulant Meanwhile, I am very busy construction’s going on in Hell disrupted by random clouds of revolting, revolving gravity knocking girders loose violent vertigo claiming kingdoms work horses slide into black holes yellow tape flails as white flags cranes arch and spark swing into the dark silky black tar bubbles, pops, seals everything is untimely interrupted and later ungainly speech mocks the tombstones growing in the lake Pain is like a good book so hard to put down separation of critical moments crystallize until everything has a compartment and no one can touch each other Decades old daydreams stink stale like sour seeds in green fruit lilies could grow out of so much manure. Rot bleeds through involuntary walls The past is sweating, afraid of what I know
s-a-knight-1
Written by
s-a-knight-1
American
May 17, 2010
May 17, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
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