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Friday, December 3, 2010

Pathological Interment


...and
if I lied
and said
I felt fine
would you see
the convenience
of a disguised truth
leaking out the corner of my eyes

marveling...

...as it meanders

...as it evolves

...as it erodes a gorge into the emptiness of me.

Pity…

…that sorrow bathes
in the comfort
of barren days

and a tattered past

and a bullet riddled present

and a cellophane future

and a juxtaposed prose that is easily disposed

in the shadow of unsubstantial twilight

as

love

splendor

sex

&

death

perform
in a unheralded
quartet
which echoes thru the halls
of a Sistine dimension 

tucked neatly
under the arm
of ignorance
pieces of flesh
and compassion
dangling

greedily
plucked upon
by scavengers born
of one-night stands
and tryst unplanned
who with starving thirst
partake of a poison
concocted with solitude
and dust from renaissance's marrow.

The taste of it soothes like a genocide and vodka chaser...

...served from a chilled glass forged in a kiln of pain.




© 2010 dasuntoucha