Sunday, February 20, 2011

Home


Scissors dice sheared dreams piece after piece.

No trace found, nothing foretold.


Sliced into bits;

skyscraping desires resist further destruction.


Dirty-blondes hide out about every corner.

Calamity resounds in silence.


Dead air breathes its last dying breath.

Lungs—one pair—pinch, release.


Caves morph to graves.

This skin has become a home.

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