Sunday, July 22, 2012

Knife Tip

this place is no longer the place I came to
and I changed too
a wintery dress, apt for a funeral
what happened to the red sash of my youth.

now a rusted harness
of broken spirit kissing its tormentor

held by soul stealers casting hallucinations
and the emittance purges forth in the sacrifice of ritual dreams

look to the street, look sideways and see a discontent unhidden
a slow tapping


I want to belong again to the smoothness of marble
of promises

as I put star halos around their faces and flowers at their feet
as I write my devotion in so many languages
as I gather the birds to sing their morning aubade
and the lilacs to breathe dreams
as I ask the night to bring me Him
as I break the knife's tip in my scar
as I give up 100 times
as I run to the moon

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