Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Telegram, stop.

A work in progress...

A gasp, a palpable and visible strand of air was expelled from
her lungs, stop.
He hung his moist words on the lines of her eyes,
to dry, stop.
Her eyes were teary, so his words shriveled and pruned like
old lady’s hands, stop.
So he picked the rotten words from her branches,
choked on the pits, stop.
Coughing, letters dripped from his lips, v l o e e m,
nonsensical, worthless, stop.
He understood speech to be extraneous material, glue
refusing to stick, stop.
She, glutinous from all his nouns and adjectives,
comes undone, stop.
They, strolling contradictions, unable to communicate,
choking, breaking, stop.

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