The torn rug

September 19, 2011 § 2 Comments

Open, Mother, I am open.

There is a beast
that lumbers it’s gross form
to the center of the city
litter at it’s feet

The mouth opens
and sings
a beauty like never heard

There is a lark
with wings of gold
it’s freakish cry
drops the limbs of the trees

Broken, Mother, I am Broken
and again, I am returned
All that I anticipated
shattered on the kitchen floor

All that came back
Far more than I ever
could have imagined

Heart Broken Open

The Exquisite…
and The Foul
Dance together
in a Waltz of Eternity

I will be the torn rug
At their feet
begging that the music
never stop…


Where Am I?

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