[ .and.the.all.lined.chorus.in.our.third.act. ]

[ .and.the.all.lined.chorus.in.our.third.act. ]

i

breathy, out of your doubting mouth, the truth entangled, as vivacious as your vicious lips and too taut tones, backing out of telling signs, that pass the all clear call.

ii

bowing at the brow, left all shot and quizzical, manacles to isotope façades. our cake fray, worn and searing thin, at the mercy of those seasoned hands, intricately, touching causeways the tongue could only call, lined with interlocking lobes and liabilities.

iii

pouting, knees grounded in the sidewalk, the down-turned sides, sour should we hear them, calling, tired of the lapping lake sound, it is in the chest and head, reminding, re-telling, there is a limit in how far this all goes.

© Bryan McLean April 6, 2010
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