Wednesday, April 18, 2012

A sweet little story poem s'all, nothing intense or profound. It's like a love note passed in class caught by the teacher and read out loud...

While he's out there banging away fiddling with his tooth all amphetamines and nicotine stained hummingbird wings he thinks of her at home making poems. He gets sad and dies in her arms. He gets strong and takes on too much. He gets drunk and slaps the streets, any street, gum booze and piss, with his rough weathered hands trembling. He's made of motion like Neal... rambling, methodically sifting though the files in his mind, behind the blue of his eyes an insanity reserved only for those who can afford it...for those who can truly love him. At home, she does not worry. She cares not for the reassurance of faith or hope...She needs no guide in this love. She is like lamp oil and he a match sparked. As one they make light, for that is all there is when you peel away the hummingbird madness his drumming fingers her heart on fire and smokescreen sadness. Each rock has a name they've tied 'round their ankles to weigh them down crumbling now there is more light for the world in virtue of love however it's born. He takes her hand in his. That's all she needs to know.
It's all she needs to keep her going.

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