September 7, 2011

  • 20

    My happiness is flaking off the picture of us.
    Laws of physics jeer the poor scab clinging
    to an imagined gravity keeping pain away,
    and laws of nature wait for an all too familiar story to
    run its course.
    I have but common words for common sentiments
    and hesitate between the quick rip for certainty
    and the bandaged healing for dissipation.
    Clear skies cloud and cliffs crumble.
    A reality cries out against two martyrs' struggles
    for that unspeakable mountaintop, chasm, truth, lie, force, love.
    Our epic comes to a pause as the hero's heart hardens and the heroine holds her breath.
    Suspended,
    that happiness flake feels the rush of the descent as it clings and clings and clings to secret hope,
    nothing in particular.