Spoken

September 30, 2008
By
blood of imbeciles
the taste of steel
against charred lips
will you speak? to me
s i l e n c e
fingers of ashes smear your vivid eyes
paraded as a narcotic romance
Paris in the folds of night
yes, what a rebel you are.
Strachybotrys atra
death-drenched mold plumes in this color
the inside of a lock
stenches with a nothingness
you can’t explain.
your voice is a city
with its streetlights and stars
shot out. no one can touch your face
it hazes here in my eyes
sable, gritted teeth in misled agony
the putrid lung of a smoker
you will not give words. to anyone
my tears drip, my spittle turns black
from the cigarettes.

but maybe you will not be missed
in a world of such red-eyed insurgents
they swallow you with lust
this is what you wanted
is it not?





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