Tuesday, 25 September 2007


if only she knew the flat line of razor.
a defining moment that trip wires.
caustic as a slow nail driven bone flesh.
a dry fuck that tinder chars.
carpet burns on the heart and soul.

time before now she dreamt of angels.
taut wings spread like cathederal tiles.
hollow cheeks spun limpid pools.
eyes that sought blue flame novas.
dark white-grey ravenous.
a trick of a mockery of god.

now she takes nights via white lines
and blue stars that carve signs
on her knees and spine.


Robert said...

this was marvellous

you are quite versatile and always full of surprises with your many moods and voices, CJ

cocaine jesus said...