09-19-2017, 08:32 AM
(09-07-2017, 03:42 AM)Keith Wrote: Edit 1
Looking back, our hollows
became a sink-hole.
Your lipstick sealed
it's smile with melted wax, held straight
even from a sideways glance.
On rainy days we could pull the grey
from our blue, those days I knew
the curl of your lip without looking.
Things only move down in here,
mouths are filled with dirt,
faded old boxes, moldy with memories
slide away unseen. sounds smash insults
just to be heard, ground is given away.
i get a vivid image now.. somehow i´d put the lines "sounds smash insults..." directly after "mouths are filled with dirt".. and make the moldy boxes sliding away in this crumbling ground the ending of the stanza.
But every good sink-hole is an hour glass,
if you hold your breath
the narrowing will pass.
Spewed out onto the surface
I force my eyes open, i like this new aspect of the effects of what was going on before
and step on each grain that glistens
before someone turns me over again.
Original
Looking back, our hollows
became a sink hole.
Your lipstick sealed
it's smile with melted wax,
held back from a sideways
glance.
There were days we could pull the grey
from our blue and I knew
without looking.
Things only move down in here,
mouths get filled with dirt,
old boxes, mouldy with memories
slide away unseen. Even a syringe
that carries the cure needs blood
before it can boast of success.
Every good sink hole is an hour glass
if you hold your breath
the narrowing will pass.
Spewed out onto the surface
I step on each grain that glistens
before someone turns me over.
...