Sunday, February 5, 2012

Head’s a wrecking ball
shattered against a broken form.
Grasp is pallid;
still crushing the throat of a porcelain girl.
The forest stained in copper,
throwing itself on desert flames,
without the recognition
that it’s all for the terms of the trade.

The moonlit predator,
breathing dust from the rays of the sun;
heaving through tension the will to destroy,
for the earth to build something else upon.

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