orgami's Diaryland Diary

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race to the gates

moon is a shin of bone
pitted and raw
sparkling in the diamond
dust of the serpents
trail

through these blinds
and to my right
i can feel her cool
face up there

slipping through her
orbit

out there in the shatter
of cold
sizzles the alien song
of natural gas
at the station by
the store
hissing louder by
lowered degree

snow crunchs underfoot
like wild jaws
shadows hunch under
mystic chimney breath

..O..

12:25 a.m. - 2007-02-07

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