words

by daylight, these weightless anchors
tether balloon thoughts to
piers of pages

by moonlight, these lead-bearing wings
strain against the gravity of
desert dreams

always I am the perforated
sack of wine, left bled by
these drunkards of words,
with a blistered cactus tongue

(yet even cacti wear flowers in the wild)

Advertisements

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s