Saturday, April 7, 2012

Moments of a Derelict Poet






A calm crowd
Faces glare forward
At peach curtains
The lights burn holes
In thoughts like ghosts
Burn holes in thoughts
And my voice
Sounds burnt

A blank page
Faces glare upward
At my peach skin
The lines burn holes
In thoughts like ghosts
Burn holes in thoughts
And my pen
Drops ashes

A dead muse
Faceless glare backwards
At a peach tree gravestone
The branches burn holes
In thoughts like ghosts
Burn holes in thoughts
And my thoughts
Cremate

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