Mark R Slaughter

The Little Pond

Brain bits
Upon the ground


Contains an element

In a drowned-out

A soul floats

In all I spat
A call

See it
Frothing as it swears

Amylase dying

Saliva speaks alone
Clears the ire

I feel as grey as lead
Dark death-grey
Accentuating weight
Cold weight
Cold-grey death-weight

My message
Frothing in the dirt
The little pond
Inside us

Fucks me up

We hide
Inside a mother

I turn to drink

I'll drink to that

Will SHE?
The quiet
Mirrored eyes of

50: 50

As 40: 60 -

I'll check for her disguise

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012

Submitted: Thursday, July 26, 2012
Edited: Friday, July 27, 2012

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