Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Touch


His eyes race

Four hundred years of alcohol on his breath

Dead Man Incorporated

Discarded dreams in piles

Hope without a face in the mirror

His hands map out the pain

Experienced

The pyramid tattoo illuminates the room

Gold

He travels on high

The river flows over his face

His desire lodged between rocks

Like a paper boat

The concrete sweats memory

The touch of another

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