West Eighth Avenue

He said exactly what he did not mean
He must love who that girl loves-
Woman loves

With a pentatonic heaviness
Her heedless life is set alight by
White-hot match on scraping
Bloody brick detonating a
Sulphuric explosion
Lifted to a fragile cigarette
Gloves damp and fingernails eaten

Flame is hurriedly ingested and
Vanquished by crooked
Wanting lips then
Flicked, tumbling, a
Blackened stump or
Amputated limb into the
Gluttonous jaws of some gutter

The smoker is sunsoaked at midnight
Aiming precisely for the
Heart of disaster, her nightmares
Screeching like an asymmetrical quarter
Spinning in the polished
Bowl of her calcified skull

Your truest love can slowly kill you

13 July 2009

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