Saturday, May 19, 2018

MINOR GRAVITY

Oh! the world is a vulgar place where the words for beauty are matched with calamities of tongue , coarse and unloved.
So we sigh and watch the flowers die a day at a time, petals curled and brown, pistel and stamen bowing to the table, hanging from the vase like dry tongues swollen in thirsty gasps.
We raise our glass to the new born babe damp and mewling the same experimental complaints, we remain in awe and transported wonder and give ourselves to regrets that the tears go by too fast,
too soon our own words will indict us for each pipe dream and in seam come undone.
Ahhh...we will lurk longer at the lake and stare into the water after we’ve skipped a stone and toss off a cigarette, relieved the lines in the face looking back aren’t ours just yet. There is only enough time to invent all these phrases that sustain themselves and contain mystery that arises the harder we squint for a clearer view of the lines of our face,
our faces are terrains of over explored expectations, the lines are the ravines where the certain futures fell,
hands,arms, legs tremble, ache, drag along the walk way, each step gets a caress from a shoe heel that could not be lifted high enough against the minor gravity.

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