Friday, June 3, 2011

Missing The Fire

Was hoping for,
colors on the breeze
again, or
shattering glasses,
scapulae to bar mirrors.
Blood, spit, semen.
Fistfight fuck,
screaming alone
on the bathtub floor.
Now, silence
and gray rain.
No phosphorescence,
purgatory in
a cold pool.

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