Monday, March 30, 2009

Through the Eye of the Needle

How the days strobe past,
unremarkable
in a light-trashed sky.

In the house on the hill
the lady has foresaken doctors
and returned to belief
in candles and beads.

Drips of candlewax
collect like sweat
on the top lip of hosannas
and hail Mary, the sky
is full of grace.

How the lady burns
as she turns on her rich sheets.
All her coins will weigh so heavy
on her eyes-
pressing her into her grave.

3 Comments:

Blogger burning moon said...

this

1:21 PM  
Blogger Chris Never said...

2 suggestions on this,

S3, last line, drop the 'is'

S4, last line, drop the second 'her' and change to 'the'

3:34 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

Thanks :)

12:37 PM  

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