02 October 2012

Aspiration / And God is Empty [Poem]

The sitting softens with time
yet the focus on it hardens.
The gluteus has melted away until there is an impression of sitting on bone
like cracking an egg.
Gentle hands sieve out the cracked shell
and what may have remained of a dead thing
Surrounding the roaring tube
that jitters like a vacuum
the hips are spread and from them ooze the protruding legs
with this insistency that bones have of remaining straight.
When the face falls sideward you half expect a tear rolling down its surface
slaloming through the beads of sweat
and burying itself on the floor. 

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