Saturday, July 28, 2007

The Riders

ripped jeans and glass slippers

one more forced fairy tale monument

to pretty voiced figured out fables

she falls through the aging sky

he's standing there by the spray painted outline

of all her fading paper angels

determined to catch that teasing skeleton man

racing through glazed rain slicked streets

all her innocent elegance mistaken for naivety

red laces tied in twos around the white plains

of her forearms criss crossed

dragging around the cumbersome swirling weight of his shadow

somewhere in a tower

a bell chimes, needs them

slow dancing around the bringers of unhappiness

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