Rosary Gardyn
RG 2006
the comfort that nothing changes; these walls;
yellowed paper and pealing paint,
rusty faucets that drip and echo in your ear;
this is the comfort, the familiar; the lusted after; eternal. Round headboards,
brass with glass embedded beads to catch the fake
moonlight; the spark from a dimly lit cigar. To catch, amuse, distract;
and the voice of the springs comes
back, for a moment, and off again in a lullabye.
The metronome of his cock, swaying.
Telling you things by hitting it hard. Things you always knew,
never failed to forget. Headboards, floorboards;
the cross your're nailed to.Wood.
This tree of life, now dead
and polished; shown off circus like, this mircale that nothing changes, the promise
that you will always be thrown out; only to be picked up
again and labeled trash queen."
~RG
