Poetry

Feb. 16th, 2016 03:56 pm
malifee: (Default)
[Note: Written this January]

My Venus will not smile
a distant diamond—
Caltrops rise from the concrete where'er she treads

(Her boots scrape the broken bricks)

Her breath is factory smoke, her face an ancient mask

(A rough cast shape caged in a smooth glass box)

Stories' glinting shadows dance around the endless expanse of her dark gaze
The distant drumming march presses her on
Into the breach, the dearth—
Is the next moment ever different from the next?

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malifee

February 2016

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