Sunday, April 15, 2012

sterile summers

lets fester in the silt of a resevoir built for all this guilt
suffocation comes in the form of Paranoia Blooms cooked in the shade of our shadows' tombs.

standing still admiring our pyramids,
our disfigured complexions will coat the surface of dying rivers' reflections

saltflats form and fireflies burn in florida organs.
their lights dim as imitations hide the stars
grow bigger, seem emptier
a conscience of green plastics and old habits from gymnastics.

don't tell me we're close,
signals from fleshy catapults don't count as folding bones.