Death

perfection is a riddled-theory with its
knobs and curves of deceit, the

lies of a fly as it tin-foils a flicker in the brain
of potential

ribbons of the wind twinkle in the eye of the sun,
useless

for our hands
useless for actual touch

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s