9-’11
Shame:
its spindly, iced fingers intertwined with spines of guilt,
subtlety weaving criss-crossed webs of black,
embedded in memory,
blocking vision with its darkness,
trapping dreams in venomous fibers,
twisting up expectation into tangled chaos—saved to be digested another day
and another
and another.
What?
It is finished.
Have you not heard?
You are forgiven.
12-6-11
A p r o n h e a d -- Lilly Green 