Saturday, April 30, 2011

FOUR CHANCES

I sung with slow moving
Mourning lips
A voiced
Vibrating
Voice box beating
Drum
Thud, thundering
Thrumming chords
I choked on truth
And hide in despair
Four walls of repeated patterns
Four walls of life in five years
And it is that stomach thing
That feel of snakes curling low in your gut
A gutted feeling
Hardly living
I think
...or maybe I dream.

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