The old venetian
Standing like shadows in haydappled with the greying wind and
making a sound that gestured at words
while I battered I
shrugged half shouldered and limp
one thin bladed scapula scraping softly
like wind blown sand against my back.
He moved like rust once more
cracking dust and creaking with red
one finger caught high and out like
iron wrought scaffolds
and hectares of dust shivering wheat
in desperate circling wind
hundreds around us.
I cracked open my teeth like
eggs in reverse
speckling blood through my ravenous lips
and hollow toned skin rupturing
my mouth in what should
look a smile while that one tapped gnarl
crackled and spilling yellow and grey
asked again.
After hundreds and granitized sand
rubbing my eyes like elbows in bark
I spun from his sifting creases and crumbling hair
and ground my already dribbling lips
punishing withal.
posted by OrangeDrink @ 11:06:00 PM
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