Rating: 5.0
The water claims victory
Of the steeple’s fractures
And erosion plays havoc
On its backbone

It starts to crumble
To tumble and fumble
For its way home

If only the world could craft
Such magic that would column possibilities
And I could peel away the dead skin
Like an onion and weep
With its overpowering abilities

But then with the last layer
Emerges the babe, the equivalent
But slighter, cleaner, better
And not afraid

Another body hidden beneath
The tired worn casing
This baby of a twin
Alert and taken to the lips
To the tongue,
To the gullet,
And almost to the heart
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
okeydokey #3 13 January 2008
...this is...great...good job...
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