an expected trickle of silence, dysphasia, and misunderstanding stopped by oxygen

the wrinkles, the dry river-beds,
the mountains
tongues
charcoal
of human flesh, red
or the steady crumble
on the carpet
of the door
I couldn’t hear the smoothness
leave me when you take yourself home.

close-up go-lights
seamless pools in crystal light
saying everything that matters
opaque locks of hair, un-cut
milky silk, shining in serums
scratch silver, oil the hinge.

demon
what don’t you know,
disconnected and clear, dull, perfect
and down the bright sky,
rolled up balls of Tokyo, making their way
shooting up, deep in the earth
sharpening in, over hands and tongues
I was on seven squares of darkness
it was nineteen-seveny-nine.

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~ by yearzerowriters on November 8, 2010.