17/02/08 The Unit

Hang ups fall of in The Basement.
Woven webs hang fallen girls.
Pricey silence and finite liberty.
Safety in networking.
Too tangled to drop
Politics. No peace.
Never released.
To fall is freedom. To land, death.
Drop - Stumble - Trip - Tumble
Care full of the key
Whole
A turned ankle. A twisted cheek
Bruised blush and a greying glow.
Disco damaged discs.
Ribs and wrists resist.
Curiosity provokes.
Cowardice persists.
Is there anything behind those eyes anymore?

1 comment:

  1. This is what I like to read. This needs no explanation either. Great piece.

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