Monday, 2 February 2009

The man mountain

Tomorrow you will pretend you are dead
and all your skin is gone
it has left

you have
now is the flesh underneath and
it hurts
so much
that you cry
but you

your eyes are full of sand and
it pours out around your head in sharp dunes
and they wash over your face as
you cry and cry these empty deserts
until you can’t cry any more but it is too late
and you are trapped under the sand (there is sunshine
outside, there is sunshine) and it bakes you
bakes you into a chrysalistic mountain range

the sand is a perfect fit
it slides into the grooves of your
muscles and your
ears and your

and you

from your mountain
of dry tears

and you are more rock
than man

as you emerge from the
falling foothills

hardened against the wind
forever and solid

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