"Moments devour us
ever since we have been speaking
a language we don't understand...
we, like stale wine,
evaporate into parallel lives
cutting dialogues into pieces
of shards that taint life’s mirror,
red-berried and tone-deaf.
In splinters of broken syllables,
my flesh walks on thin glass
as words are splattered on cut edges,
unheard in din of nights
crashed on frames of near bethrotal...allowing me
to favor another who gifts me with respect.
While disdain explodes in your eyes,
you stare at him with blood-stone ire
my breath dares to will stark truth. Leave then,
before stars ache ..please do not answer back."
Charles Haigh Wood, Isaiah Zerbst's Contest
by nette onclaud