Monday, September 21, 2009

[ stooping to your clemency. ]

the slow month drifts
glacial, this side of the atlantic
two spies on a ship sail
to your kingdom.
which doesn't exist.
five hours later feet
pounding the cold sidewalk
teeth throbbing, this perfect tennis
morning, any goddamn
excuse to forget
last night would do.
but why the great absurdist,
are you not
satisfied with
my voice and flesh, must you
maggot your way into
my memories too?

2 comments:

sing-song said...

i like

Zh. said...

maggoty maggots.