My heart is stillbeating on night’s plate — two sounds in everypulse.The first,a door slams.The second,a house caves in.
It is easy,To fake a smile;When people are there.
It’s a funny feelingto laugh, to cry,ring hollow insideempty chambers,talking to nothing,no-one heedsshadows in…
She carved a question,
Flecks of skin and blood-red feathers,singed by rocks that had fallenfrom the sky like stars,cling to a sea of bones…
But you’ve got to do it.
He’s always tired,Tired because no one likes him,Always accusing him of working,Too slowly,Or too quickly.
Apologies to any Bernie you may know, but the name will always belong to one of my oldest friends.
I hung my smile on yesterday — I tell you, it was beautiful, but the thing about great days is, they just don’t ever last.