Blood is real, not thicker than water;
the treachery starts in the “family”
and ends in a poor woman’s kitchen.
A flower struggling to be free above her stove.
She keeps it – because she knows:
that, too, is real
So what emerged beneath the waves,
Crawled to make a street
A horse carriage to a humvee,
Somewhere in between
Your hand with no lines to read
So you highlight
The dash
On the grave.

…what started with a bang
Ends not w/ a whimper
But a muted
A rebellion lost
Within the mind.

Fail Better (Broken E-Mails to Beckett)

Tagged , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s