Saturday, March 19, 2011

Pointing To A Different Horizon

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I promised not to cry
but could feel the weight of your fall
through the smoke and
magnificence of it all
you are falling
your excellent lies
and glorious weight
your eyes proud, disobey
now. You
you are a devourer a
piercing sign of
I admire your altitude
as you fall,
you are falling


The good word
a flute of violent correctness
the heart creeps, trembling toward safety
tender the bloom
that does not mean a thing
but gently waits its nature
a slave to all these faces
to the anticipation of eyes
to the balance of a kiss and
the good beginnings
waiting for the time
waiting for the morning
waiting for the hard word:
she's not there

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