She tallies up the numbers
throws the words “trust me”
around like a dagger
one night a week
taking out the camera
she says that we can do it here
wants to be frank with you
so full of useful advice
her obvious need
is to consider herself self-aware
despite the uncontrollable destiny
that hangs from nameless walls
panting like a stranger
on all fours
crawling whiskey across
walled up inside
she has a silver agenda
hidden between the folds
simply marvelous
down upon the cold
breathing florescent
she nails it to Thursday
long on the lost side of things
jammed up down below
clever in her sandwich
the crumbs tango across the plate
sitting on the ground
legs stretched out
bathed in dirt black
forgetting everything else
life chasing after her
sometimes with her
and sometimes against her
turning the handle
like mumbling pilgrims
covered in dust
inventions of her mind
true to the vivid
pillaged in the end
understanding the honor
of dime store deals
the real pain
and rustle of god
no one dreams of dark rooms anymore
least not her
she waits for it to be over
ripping out her heart
sandpaper sunshine
maddening stare
© 2009 Deep Piercing Cut
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