Saturday, November 22, 2014

//Faith in the Anvil//

//Faith in the Anvil//

Words flounder in decay
-how I wish they'd never flown.

The returning smile of a jackal explodes.

I quietly count my time, even though I know it isn't really there, until they name the hour, and I politely carry on.

These hours, marked by cigarette ash sometimes seem more needed than my mind -and in the best case, I make a discovery in a spare moment or a heavy trance, that's outstripped my time.

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