brown-eyed bitch
waiting for a
feeling to bring
some sort of light
to the darkness
of her eyes but
company keeps what
most would throw
away in the wind
of some harmful
moan in the rafters
of what man doesn't
know and should
in most cases turn
the lights off of
though she'll beg
and beg to keep
her head she'll
find both saints
and sinners in her
bed filled with
ten thousand scabs
otherwise known to
her as love letters
peeled away and
lick-sticked to her
elbows where they
can not be washed
away by his mouth
whether it's bigger
or made of some
three-day-cold infant
waiting to be washed
away in the bottom
of a bin behind the
church where all of us
throw our poison when
told that it's sending
us to hell so blame
yourself man, or
blame someone else

10/20/2006

Posted on 10/21/2006
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