3 December 2009

Waiting For A Chance

Bells bleach grasping hands
that distort the sands of

idiots, who grin and bare
bags of paper dreams.


Ambition ambles
through halls of lullabies,
vacant of eyes to mourn Air,
who died in the breach.


Fly from the mouths of
bird shaped dolls; porcelain
souls, and tickets of memoirs
will steam as we scream.


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