our hands are like flowers
eaten by a fox
we cut off our clothes
to make room for the world
and disguised our souls in nothing
feelings suspended we rear-ended the world
stood upon bridges waving at girls
shreds of starlight
reflect the falling carriages
sadness and birth are beyond your marriages
same story told throughout the eons
our personal feelings are diluted in the sea
just as we could no longer hold on
our shadows found the ground
and we floated down to safety
Ilion gray Mar 2014
I killed a man today
Watched as he 
passed along 
Just walking 
 The face he wore  was empty
perhaps he was happy.
I killed him
With skin , joints, and bone, crashing,
Tendons,
 ligaments ripping twisting
Pulsating vibration of strings
Mozart concerto #20,
Then...godless jumped on the Brooklyn bound L train
wandered home,
Through the cracked streets of new york city pot holes large as tiny oceans 
I leap over them, as if i were god's son, hurdling aeons.
Upon arriving home,
washed my hands clean 
of being
God spoke through the faucet
with sounds of sword and shield collapsing, glass breaking against concrete and steel the secret sound of 
His horseman riding
 That only i could hear..
Afterward
I Washed a knife and fork, 
Prepared, cooked and ate a sausage,
 skin, joints, bone, 
tendon, ground, 
Twisted,wrapped in fat
There I stood outside myself
Though my shell remained

I walked along the coastline of the forgotten 
voices,
Of those who never age.
Peter J Jul 12
There's nothing left of that night,
but the sound of my fingers
running down your pictured face.

And if you were to say I touched you,
then the bait is surely drowned
for the excuse I use is rarely legal.

And before your mothers shawl
I looked through a window for a shrouded man
founding only good and praise with certainty.

But where your long legged flesh
stood alone at the door of my home,
where my long heavy hearts breath inhaled
just as a slow heave of sea bares it's chest.
I rose up just as a storm that vents its claws
to rage upon your fair pale young skin,
adorned with the feathers of a small bird
that lit up my eyes and heart for this was my thirst.

There is nothing left of that night.
The drift has all but disappeared
before I could be pitied as he that fell twice.

And if you were to say I touched you,
on my mortality and bleached white bones
I'd say I was rich in my rudeness
to those who would listen.
#a long long story and I fear it will never be finished
#re-wite #3
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