Sanguine

brick-colored winds blow stronger
a cretaceous era tied my ankles
to the ground
I’m raising mountains
each time my knees tremble
flint burnt from foundations

if I raise my front straight
in this bloody dust storm
crevices show up in the eye whites
in different directions
with my forefinger I cut pathways
on my temples
dusting off pink dreams plaster
from all sleepless nights

I’m still walking on tiptoes
or on my heels
I’ll never be a brick
in another forecourt
waiting for a new glacial period
to find a place in a heart
like in an igloo

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Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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