Monday, November 28, 2011

064: Conclusion

Gallery of mummies,
murdered parts of self,
wrote in red, the clouded life,
as exposures drag the head,
the earth drank the blood
that seeped between
the cobblestones.
In our mausoleum,
honey shrouds the corpse,
the hurting words
and the loss
of what was never there.

Absent angel,
present the echo,
in the concrete world,
pitch black solid;
I answer to -
find myself
in blank days,
terror in the night,
hold back
the rose of anger,
nude skin stripped
of denial.

Sun flare whipped,
when they speak,
every word,
the knife described,
parchment the mouth,
throwing stones
to build the cathedral
Cold dark hides,
restoration in the distant,
cupboards of my heart,
the spiders' racket;
you may feel
a little sting.