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PostPosted: Tue Nov 10, 2015 8:36 pm
  

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BlunderVirgin

Joined: Nov 10, 2015
Posts: 6
Sliding the ice like a vampire jet on fire in melancholy blackness,

you lift your eyes to the emerald pinpoints of the night sky.

Death like a salesman dressed in black crepe paper stands smiling on the beach,

his hands folded like a priest.

The cold is near absolute

and you fall like a wing-shot sparrow through a million windows of light

and never hit the ground.

Remember?


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