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landscape of the brain

By March 1, 2012Blog

I am not blank
specks of flame and silk sweat
spaceless rooms filled with found objects
the wind here is a meri-go-round of disaster and dust
it is always dawn dim lit and day broke
busted but beautiful
a stranger’s paradise unforeign and unexisted
people retire beneath eyelids and everyday is an endless lifting
trees grow in corners with little love and lots of lust
rivers leak off branches, rain shower electricity
there is no such thing as mortal
merely drunk mourning the magic
grief torturing the twisted genius of clumsy
dancing, I walk with sticky music stuck between toes
each day is a new betrayal born in a careless mouth
sex is a withheld voice sung silly
sweet spelled across a platter of “forgive me, I couldn’t help myself.”
every village is fascinated with the utter of conspiring
there are a row of ancient park benches waiting for
homeless thoughts sitting in a room made of compassionate regret
pain is a toothless half open smile
we squeeze grins in flasks and swear our faces anew
whiskey shot bullet wounds
god is a bloody bartender
listening to the drip of a well orchestrated spill.

(written last night, inspired by a meghann plunkett writing prompt)