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Jan 2011
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the people look like ache,
shriveled and lost inside
their twisted interpretations of movement.
we're tired here,
spitting out apologies and
niceties, the things expected
of a well mannered member of society.
looking at the hands passing by,
wrinkled and lined with everything
they've loved-
it's exhausting to think of every life you've contained.
if my woman was a fire
she'd burn out before i wake
and be replaced by packs of whiskey
cigarettes and outer space
then somebody moves
and everything you thought you had has gone to ****


broadripple is burning.
Written by
beth winters
672
   Kiagen McGinnis, C and Lee Turpin
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