Saturday, January 22, 2011

Second Life

Amanda is turning ghostly as a line
inscribed in that wordy book.

Wretched tracks. She offers a thinly veiled

And serenely trims the message.
Lowing on those downloaded hills.

Bent to parks. Standing before turtles, where the conical
washes blank. Outworn

Amanda. She peddles and spins.
Selecting the plump boils

on the song’s enterprise. Amanda
doesn’t hope to tack

from dim until dark. A rout
shows her home.

She seethes in browns. She has shone
to a dilating shore.

But Amanda stays. Given, dull memories
fester enjoyably, but

she balks. Who is Amanda
playing with and leading

up to bedtime? Amanda
declines while vanishing.

Dowdy as always.
Amanda. Merely formed.

Comes up to the knee. Changed
outward and sees. Building

Amanda. One to play.
One to buy. A penny’s worth,

A piping wreck. She’s
brushed, and pinned to Amanda.

Comments: Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?