Like Poisonous Trees


We move like the dead you forgot to bury,
we fall like we're in a hurry

A fricative mist of lethal sounds,
cold eyes and awkward pounds.

Impersonator in earthbound gown
angel with buried feet, passion drags her down.

It's a lovely thing, it is, this ground will confess,
to sleep, to die, in a chemical dress.




Poetry by True Words Embellished
Read 967 times
Written on 2006-03-02 at 13:09

Tags Nature 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


liz munro The PoetBay support member heart!
WOW!
Liz
2006-03-03