28 July 2008

amanda boschetto


she gazes upon the world,
the same she created
with orgasms of smiles

and her legs are always open,
for every man who wants to
visit some cheap cunt

one day she shall paint her
walls with brain and bones,
maybe already tomorrow,
in her soft cell of dust

she is night during day and
never sees any children
alive under her hands,
they turn to naked trees,
they turn as she does,

into words and air,
forever here

the mirror reflects

my face in the mirror
is void of truth,
that trembles along
with the trees outside,

the ugly ghosts of summer
swim in a puddle
of death or a sweet suicide,
a haze of unawareness,

chasing me back to childhood
where i grew up
and ran to catch the rain
clouds were higher than
heaven then
and the pale sky was full
of mourning,
a lonely beauty that
left a mark on my skin,

all this within

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