orgami's Diaryland Diary

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rustle

the night is weary
and the bones of flooring creak
upon displacement theory

my tea jar is empty
my coffee pot is smashed
how I hurled it
against the wall
and rejoiced in the madness
not once cutting my feet
on the plains of shards
that waited hungry as
patient blades

there are knuckle branchs
bent in arthritic winds
and notes played dischordant
the arithmetic of scales
distorted
and I tumble in my dreams
tearing free the mooring
of sheets
the dogs are close
snapping or are they wolves

the television talks recieving
signals
and the cd skips my lost era
music like telographers twitch

a moon is swept with clouds
ragged as a Toledo sky
brush stroke bourgoise
while an emerald creek
cries its soul over rampant
guile beds of calculation

I want to hunger in the wasteland
and taste tears of your haunting
on the cheeks of salvation

but life is not bitter sweet so easy
and we take our toll one dream
at a time

12:35 p.m. - 2011-11-18

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