Sunday, November 5, 2006

Cryptic (p. 11)

Kei Tse

Clawing at extensions of youth
bleeding out from hollowed cavities,
we rip out our eyes in wonder,
drinking nectars of self-sufficiency and trauma.

Orphaned fingers curled around a pallid canvas,
folding delectably with bursts of colours blooming
out of the Fahrenheit and paradigms of our bodies, shifting.

somewhere in the space between two broken mirrors.
This is eternity, passing.
A cryptic astrology.

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