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is not
by Indigo Tempestalike a plant reaching for dark, dully
slumps an empty jacketmaxs, whom i
havent seen in days.
empty elephant skin
leaning impassively; it does not mind
our crooked chairs loveless limp embrace.
there is, can be, nothing
less abrasive
less upsetting
than this apparition.
a ghost is naked somewheredont get excited.
only let pool this meaningless sanctity
with its guise of smooth cloth.
those arms are not max.
they do not endeavor to be him.
those hanging vine sleeves, wrinkled bunched
torso care nothing of life, melting into a puddle,
painting our carpet in thick drips.02/15/2004 Posted on 02/15/2004
Copyright © 2024 Indigo Tempesta
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