stains
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The light blurs out any sensation you sense
Your clothes are stained, but you wait in suspense
The picture frame is tilted agains the wall
It never bothered me, for imperfetion is beauty after all
I remember one morning
I sat on the porch and played with my dolls
Gritty sand of the ground
In my teeth
Under my nails
I remember looking up
There was a man walking down the road
Empty hands
Empty phase
Lonely place.
Shuddering loose.
Ends ravel back, twisting trunks
Forty stains,
Grape seeds.
Whispered gold, precious wrought.
Luscious lied.
