Sunday, May 26, 2013


They have a lost glass in their grey eyes,
Outer skin of gone nectarine,
Rock-like flesh underneath, mouths
that open into curlicues.

They live but can't see a life here.
They walk grimacing unnoticed.
What they have is what they had.
They want/ don't want each other.

These men, outside the pool of light,
Acting on their last survival nerve,
Trapped in an elevator with other beauties:
They are riding our bucket into space.

Sea Bitch

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