Thursday, April 7, 2011

Those who lower their necks

Those who lower their necks

All drained of brilliance
and bad music
are the ghosts.
Pulled over by a cop,

a web of habits
aligned with the universe.
All that she owned,
death by an amateur’s hand

dropping shooting stars.
Each day
exposed by your primitive behavior.
Feeling the sway

of flat and dull words
in the here we are now.
Immortalized and burning
like the blood of dreams.

as my breath escapes
once more.
Relentless in her madness,

sniffing out the sublime
striving ambition on display.
The stone-faced gambit
that can’t be true

to hold the kudos.
Who were visionary angels,
a stone around your neck
alive and empty.

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