Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Afternoon Perfumery




Burnt watermelons 
perfume my afternoon. 
What good is Monday 
if not to suck the life 
out of you? 
Rain or drought, 
only sleep reigns. 
Hatred intertwines. 
Comely, 
you feel you want to die. 
Itching that etches like a harlot 
licking her dead lover's 
lavender tears. 
The day begrudgingly 
heats. With icing 
sweet as weeping water lilies. 
Weep with them. Vilify. 
Vocalize those ornery corners 
you wish were your feathers. 
Silver and blue bells your gods. 
They try to goad. 
Half of your life wasted. In grief, 
in covering up the bruises 
with lies so rotten 
they reek the stench 
of your dying bones. 
Those succulent maggots 
eating up your heart. 
Stand straight. Look up. 
The world needs no more 
injurious bouquets. 
Sing with them. 
Even when you have nothing 
to sing about.



Monday, February 20, 2012, 7:13 PM –
Tuesday, February 21, 2012, 3:19 PM

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