To your credit, it almost worked
(always less than a perfect score)
The vespertine glow sinks deep
(and I crave nothing)
into this critical evanescent battle
Quaint, door-slamming concepts
throw hate against its own limitation
(Broken; the needle is stuck)
I turned away, to give you everything
Just for a while; another stretch
My heart (w)rests free
Twisting itself throughout my spine
grazing it's way, in utter disbelief,
beyond my scaling skin,
Sensing its haptic way home
It reaches behind me, always; to remain
All turns to nothing; shit turns to gold
A stranger exists now, in the dust marks
of your leftover shoes
The last place you stood
is a smoking gun; a hopeless flame
Flickering below errant principles
Of discreet corners and chanted rhythms
The line is drawn, its path a dehydrated mark
that you shall never cross again
SRWB 2010
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