Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Uneven ... the glow
a glow ... supposed
a tool shown to mystery guests
and traveling pests.
Unraveled in harvested moons
yet oh ... my captured wounds.
I wrap them around cellophane hearts
a tour ... be proud
somehow lost in a crowd
toast to the note-cards
that sort out my mind against hypocrisies
I sort out my mind ... in the end
There are days of unregistered rhymes
and they seem to be advancing upon undying darkness.