Monday, August 30, 2010

I found this poem in the crack between my bed and the wall

Suddenly I've got eyes
who refuse to translate the heated metaphors
clever black feathers
his face turned away to the place morning can't touch
its dew hands pushed away by dreams
the brightness barely contained by thick curtainy green
the bed is still comfortable
after 6 drunken hours
the sunlight doesn't matter,
limbs rearrange
in sleepy affection
no matter how sharp it tried,
clarity could not become that smile.

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