Monday, 11 April 2011

Claudia Vayle

Wet silk, black

Like bats wings

Hang in the sky

In the corner

A body of net

At the door way

Who will never go out

And didn't come in

The room has blown open

Darkness too far

A shawl of skin

Folding home now

Tunnel of breath

Sides fast and slipping

Tonight not to be

At the end

Ebony tribe chant

Voice from the sea

Dream flowers open

Heart drowning

In night blood.


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