Wednesday, February 13, 2013



Afflicted spine to curdled toes,
  every strand of flesh
  each twig of bone
sought the pity, of burial.

His eyes pricked, broken yolks
  in apoplectic hollows.
His epileptic slaps, pitiably
  ripping unseen leeches from his arms.

His hands, lacerated maps
  of labor, shame and delusion,
  scrambled from his pockets.

Elbows locked to his body's sides
  a hungry seagull's wings,
  diving into the shallows of my ocean.

- written so long ago, I only know it was the previous century (sounds waaay cooler when put that way).

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