Friday, 6 October 2017

the pen rained pain

and of all the seamstresses in the
world this paper was the only
one that didn't tear its lean
poetic arms.


worded in a different window
of rainbow fluids large
enough to open my arms
and close my opal crown;
define my resisting core
scratched of my half-opened
eye.


awaken my whole with your
grey clouded shatters and
disappear with us in whole
hearted emptiness strides.


shredded vocabulary
where this place is all
i have to call a homeless
departure.


this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...