it was something out back, stashed
tossed away with the rest of whatever
frozen responses, tossed aside comments
nothing of relevance
nothing that mattered
belonged to some other dimension, perhaps
not for this season or time splash ...

placed carefully in a box full of bruises
and tears that ran red
no one would believe or accept
how her blood ran cold,
mysteries bound and tried to break free
oatmeal cookies are no good for this terrain
let the maggots enjoy
a feast for the senses
of indeterminate width and length ...

doorways and footsteps quietly shaken
careful as not to disturb
the ebb and flow of common consensus
new thought has no place in this realm,
let's just leave that, won't we, for some other day
and get back to this pretense of pretending ...

08/11/2007

Posted on 08/11/2007
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