Tuesday, September 20, 2011

the scintillant.

the voices always change

in the dim light after sunset

from that of sweets coated in silica,

words slide off of a sharpened tongue

then echoes of gears grinding,

seizing air between the teeth

*

she was found there once, crushed

velvet and delicate porcelain debris

shards sinking through melting ice

of judgments bent to compulsion

now, carefully fading to the back

silent tinctures in the blankets

dreaming of jewels and carved stones

waiting for the skies to fill with light


© september 2011 heather brager

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