Start.
there was coffee and a filtered cigarette
cheap cotton blankets, crescent designed decorator pillows
there is a thick aura, subconscious riddles
we can imagine a mild morning sunrise
an agitating light christening the midnight black furniture
there is static, there is always static
there is always an empty tomb, in the middle of the floor
begging and beckoning. Come.
there is always an empty shell of a lover
waiting to be filled while the hermit sulks in shame
between blinds and the warm early coastal glow
it starts with an alarm, it ends with an alarm
with a pair of chimney lungs, blank stares
into the enamel sheens of the ethereal
it always begins black
End.

08/09/2008

Posted on 08/09/2008
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