Untitled - May 29, 2000

These words cut
deeper than the
roughest blade.

Carving slow pieces
of flesh - 
a pound
for each thought.

And so they lie
like so much rubbish -
skin shed
like a snake.

Dried, shapeless
in a harsh sun.

They bake and harden
in the light
shrivelling 
into
nothingness.

    Source: geocities.com/pdt_bear/pomes

               ( geocities.com/pdt_bear)