Race
Tue, 5 May 2009 at 07:34pm
untitled
My lungs rise and cave as sterilised air
buckets in, and my cow-heavy legs
anchor me to the ground. There’s a constant,
pregnant
pattering in my head, created by
the cadence of my breath and
the hollow of my treads.
I can see the
freshly farrowed sunrise, it is kindly
illuminating my newborn
crows’ feet for the world
and one more
to see soon, as my eyes, for many nights,
have been held hostage by inevitable
cradled cries.
Dummies of rain begin to nest on my
static eyelashes. And below milk-white clouds
I finally find the lull of lights,
blanketed in
susurrus endings and screaming
beginnings.
Three others like this.
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burning_sands
2009-05-05
sick line breaks, yo.
bowers
2009-06-01
the metaphors in this continue to blow my mind to bits the more I think about them