rags for words

the gray dark matter of your existence

young man, with his life drawn out ahead of him far too early

asking Aphrodite if she had ever hollowed out her heart for love

the gods offer little to the flesh…. or the muse

The coverings thin against their will

with each tick of existence within this midst 

your heart shudders becoming more naked

perhaps it is in the hot sweat twisted fabrics of desire

bleeding out a tempest that drags your dreams across soul 

that then…. we wish are hearts to be somehow be more naked

The desperate voices of whiskey and refrain 

rags for words

pulling from the tattered edges of the gutter

poetry that surrenders to a poem

no less naked than truth