a whisper through ice

slapped her with a weakened hand
while she drank red
wine from a
borrowed glass, in
moonlight,
she got thirsty
for a walk, shattered
windows scattered
fog through
old furniture, she sat drunk
in dust,

sleek shape and a poverty
of shadows hid
her behind
portions of sliding windows
and pieces of
a smile,
eyes recited no emotions
fingers breathed no
words,

she untied him like laces
on discarded shoes
in forgotten closets, moth cakes
drip down
and are eaten by blind
mice,

cursed him in French braid and
tired mascara,
color thread in 
soiled
sheets lay on tarnished
brass and impudent
sex,
his green eyes closed from
scowls and
pointed
fingers,

he cried dreaming awake
in solace,
cradled his tears in
wrinkled skin, whispered
through icy grass
and cold
blankets,

she licked her lips drowsily,
moisture impatiently
awaited like
suitcases in a bus terminal,
he woke up then,
“the time for lies is
over”
‘cats prowl for blind mice
in alleyways’
she questioned in the usual way,
she sat there unresponsive,
his silence made
a sound…

Copyright © 06/19/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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Joffe Cameron’s Most Unusual Occurrences

stars leaned back too far on old rocking chairs

and collapsed into a black hole

 

their light emptied into a sea,

 

a man puts on a diving suit and submerges,

needs flame for a candle

 

so his children can eat cornflakes when the

sun is late,

 

it missed the 4:15 a.m. train, fell asleep in a

station where newspaper

 

headlines read like stereo instructions;

 

dogs don’t tell lies when holding black and

white stories in their mouths,

 

burnt cinder in an ad from a sun’s request

 

family skeletons hiding in darkened closets,

afraid of the obituaries;

 

teachers in one thought classrooms tearing

pages out of text books,

 

paper airplanes fly out of wooden sashed 

windows searching

 

for the truth,

 

gray suited historians aiming shotgun shells

at unidentified flying aircraft,

 

air raid sirens sound;

 

i look up into a sky where stars once where,

a quickly burning match

 

singes fingers that have labored a lifetime,

 

the charcoal is black like memories i’ve

forgotten

 

she was in a piece of broken glass lying

in a doorway,

 

nails no longer holding paint, fall and break

away her smile

 

i cut myself on a sharp edge as i try to fit

remaining glass into

 

a frame on a warped door,

 

her tears cleanse my unhappiness, yet

i am in solitude

 

old brick beneath my feet turns to sand,

i sink into a room

 

behind a desk

 

candlelight cloaks keys on an aging

typewriter,

 

black ribbon presses words onto empty

paper

 

a poem takes shape like the expression on

forgotten remembrances,

 

finished, my eyes close…

 

Copyright © 06/06/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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