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Tuesday, January 06, 2015

Final Exam

Believe that the throat
is meant to be so bruised.
Ruin the soft blue-
the curve of a vein
let this sharpness become pain,
say: this is nothing.Nothing is this: say

it has no name,
make a game, then;
call it a kiss, missing
the idea completely.
Let your eyes cloud over,
mind crowd over, just forget it.

This is unimportant:
we all live for the surprise
of the lies that keep us up.
Tip your cup to the dog.Test yourself, test yourself.
This wavering is no dream.

1 comment:

Sometimes Saintly Nick said...

Excellent, Angel. I'm so glad you dropped by my blog so that I have now discovered your blog.