Monday, April 13, 2015

Killing an Old Lover inside my Head

This rectangular cot of wood
is my world tonight.
As I lie counting the stars
curtained across a glass window.
each a tiny speckle
threaded in the patchwork
of the wild blue yonder
that changes colors
like my body that loves to play with
fire and ice. Normal is passe.

The fervor of a fever excites me.
this is how I die, and kill
people who have chosen to let me go.
The moon, looks like your cold eye
that didn't bother to take one last look at me
while I froze like an autumn leaf
about to fall from her tree.

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