This Is Not Art

Poetry to Split the Social Order

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Rot

"I am a dead body,"
He said
As all the stars fell out the sky
and his eyes burned holes in my sweater
like a cigarette
"I am a corpse"
she said
As she breathed dust into the room
coloring everything gray
Causing all those gaps in conversation
to become visible
But,
I am glad she said it
The stench was becoming unbearable
the room smelled like a battlefield
or the emergency room in summer
and no one knew
where it started
or where it ended
No one knew
that they were rotting too

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