The heartbeat never fades;
however sullen the face of magnolias may seem,
and though we do not speak
our acts reverberate like nothing else–
we believe in the odours of life,
our tongues
resting after a decade of bloom and bleed;
for now, there is only steel: there is only steel.

 

 

 

Day Eleven ~ Soviet Kitsch

Posted for Play It Again @ Real Toads