Sunday, 6 October 2013

Birth. Life. Death

Artisans creating
masks to mask
the voids. 
Between our ribs.
Between our ears.

Set your own
life on fire.
Seek others to fan the flames.
Nobody wants to burn.
Just to watch others burn.

Words wither even
the strongest bonds.
I wanted to
be a poem.
Not a poet.

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