Tuesday, August 12, 2008

One of those poems

She glitters like disease
like harlequin eyes
like a volcano dance

She holds Africa like a slice
of apple at the back
of her bark covered throat

She keeps straw and orchids
by pillow so sleep is travel
and every morning is a violent un-burial

She is pancakes and sand,
a silent infection, the moon
as it splits the septic sky

She is quietly blurred,
a bloody Cinderella holding
apocalyptic peace in her
happenstance hands


TB said...

obviously, you should be posting your slam poetry performances here. and writing new ones. readership would skyrocket.

asp said...

every morning is a violent un-burial... nice.