Sunday, September 28, 2014

full of trumpets

being able to lift your chin and smirk for the camera
doesn't make you bullet proof or superhuman 

grow, grow, leech, vine
the ego is still as temporary as skin

even the grandest of it 

there is, though, a subtle body of love
that outlives the lines of your fleshy meat

it is full of secret wishes
as simple as kindness or the rhythm of an encouraging drum

it is full of trumpets 
and emptying breaths
and tears that cascade
down salty cheeks 
into the corners of upturned lips

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