The grave is a purse full of porcelain bones mingling with earth.
The porcelain corridors of my bones are possessed by burning light.
The light tastes of wild multitudes risen from the grave.
words courtesy of Read Write Poem
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Monday, March 30, 2009
Porcelain Corridors
Labels:
poetry,
prose poem
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1 comments:
Richly erotic and paradoxically should not be more than the dust of graves!
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