my fists can feel
a thousand forevers
that have whetted cheeks
with waning weakness
to cross a canvas
of stuccato steps
that weep wonder
into something strange:
i can see that this enemy
has found its way
into melodies
and words have wisened
to drop
from visibility...
into images
only ever imagined.
so i plot holes
[like jewels]
between obtuse organs
that swell
to out-size kidney beans
and bare-boned,
we sob together.
my grief is a grocery store
and heart hankers merely
for a minimum wage,
while rage stutters sorrow
inside signatures
of stomach.
i have a dream today,
that time
fails to elapse between exchanges
and that night
absconds from the periphery
of my vision...
so i illustrate inside it
and become a good painter,
gently stripping soul
to replace it with you--
blended by the brushes
of april's rain.
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
what can i say, im a very generous person.
) but there's nothing I'm gonna do about it and that's why 
