Wednesday, August 21, 2013


I read about you.
Not sure what type of species could detach like that,
I studied you.
Desirous of an explanation
to account for this mutation
in our Knobby
wounded Tree.

But nothing fit in boxes
and there was no black & white to shuffle a conviction toward.
Just a steady stream of
toxic milk
and fingers smashed
beneath the silk
and yellow nails
while glasses shine
and running out of
space for lines
and trashy phrases masked with lies,
discovered texts and alibis
And yet my memory
dares defy
the only place left not to cry

So you go on with Purple crayons
sketching all your made up plans
that broke your boy
and killed my heart

and when you're done


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