Sunday, February 28, 2010

Calm Down

It is a warm blue,
relative to black,
by eyes towards the inept sidewalk.
Among the ugliest of pavement,
and the moment of actual capture-
the heavy white beauty on the branches
is like stillness on the twenty-sixth,
when the wooden church doors exhale,
wind from heaters nears Dystopia,
like God watching his breath turn cold.

When Jesus puts away his license,
The arms, loose from ham
expended by knives,
The fingers like teeth through plastic,
will retire tonight
behind shampooed hair by the fire.
By Monday, the nailed teeth will wake
and drag the strands out, like children in shops
throwing fits for Change,
the knuckle knees fall at the temples.

Oily faces sit in a circle measuring time.
You poor things will go no where.
in The City of Drawers
she's hollow beneath the black coat and glasses,
pushing her hand out like a need from the inside,
climbing the rope with every vein.
She speaks and the syllables slow down, becoming her,
the fat on her belly, the blonde dye,
the Cocoa pebbles in her brain.

Today is the day, anxious girl, to remember the way
light dies behind clouds,
diminishing in tiers with no stories to deflect the gold descent,
like fallen buildings with batted eyes,
or the sound of God swallowing breath in the darkness.

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