A frigid brittle chalk
streaks a lie across my
dry spine, It grates
like eery music
jaggedly ruptures
the small streams,
friction awakens me
witness the broken white
menace.
The dust of death
leaves the air a crowded
house, Jostled elbows
and angry drunkards
make a white fog
humble physicality
frustrates the gnashed
shrunken line.

10/05/2006

Posted on 10/05/2006
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg