Sunday, April 10, 2011

NaPoWriMo April, 7, 2011


The bell’s chain holds it back.
from striking against Wonderment
under the heavy lid
of Sunday. Sunday is ruin,
the decline of us. Not me.
The decline of me is in the coiled snake
heart of our old stories.
The nightmare of history. A woman
can’t hold all her teeth in her head,
so she surrenders them for prosperity.

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