Still Born

The palm within the wrinkle.

I cannot read it right.

Nor left, or straight in site.

An Old and varied soul,

I see with ancient sigh.

I take a breath of arid heart

and measure you,

 not I.

We contemplate our heavy dreams,

we look for answers nigh.

The pictures painted in the night

will suit our wit of day.

Be careful not to say,

the depth of all, you're high!?

An interruption will cause fright

in the middle I may see light.

Death does move through my site.

Holding up the hands of time,

sifting grains through sieve and strain,

my vegetable mind,

I cannot find.

If I wake in frightful might,

the ticking of those heels tonight,

close your eyes,

shut your doors,

put locks on keys where there are whores.

Still is born,

thank god today, 

you were not me on any day!!!

K.A.P.

5/9/2009