Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Caught in between.

They say..
Moss can't grow
On a
Rolling stone.
But this rock 's
The only anchor
That I've
Ever known.
And I chose
Cement shoes
Don't thank
Mr. Capone
Call it igneous
Not ignorant
On this
Granite throne.

But rock turns
To sand
When time's hands
Turn to hate.
And words
Die in dust
When they're
Born of the slate.
Erosives, explosives
Seduce then sedate.
This beach is glass pieces
And an open window to create.

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