Friday, November 4, 2011


Killing time, killing the sun.
My skin stretches, stitching along my breast
and the king pin smiles then I catch my breath.
The day bleeds while I breathe smoke.
Coughing takes you deeper, brings you blind to the hearth
That lights our nights with hooded eyes;
Sets rules that bind over turf.
My friends are dead underground.
My stars are lost, like Tootles' marbles, 
And our lady prayed:
"My Blood is warm within my skin
Stretched, stitched, along my breast."

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