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All the King’s Horses MAG
You, wrapped in bed sheets,
hurtling down concrete staircases
with only the flaking scalp
of fleeting years to seize.
Vulgar love notes they carved
into your brain-shaped box
with fingers muddied
with adultery, gluttony
until you were a shape unknown.
Pouring over you, contorting you;
healthy vesicles stamped
into undoored rooms
disguised as stars.
Where sofas lie beneath plastic
I could never reach you.
But I fold my clean towel around you
as you lie on your soiled bed
and listen for horses,
knowing they couldn’t
put you back together again
as I rock your sweet head.
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Favorite Quote:
"Look out, they're coming after us with big guns,<br /> They're only gonna tell you all the bad things I've done<br /> Even if they words they say aren't true they've won,<br /> Now I'm left here dying in the sun..."