Liquid Tongue 02.03.04
by Lacey Smith

The light well flows an empty grasp
and pulls shut the piercing movement:

a skin like a self like a mask like an
empty word of hope--springing eternal
this shame of misconception.

Lying awake in the doubling tyrade of
this music that pulls itself along
empty planes, folding mountain into
paper cups. Cupping hands to shape
fingers.

The feigned smile dragging highlights
pulling out the pauses and forcing the
empty line with an unrecognizable gratitude

pulling moments out of pockets and hiding
them at the backs of sore throats.

02/04/2004

Author's Note: Decidedly still in progress...

Posted on 02/04/2004
Copyright © 2025 Lacey Smith