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[ .the.imaginary.boy. ]

the world once had
beneath bare feet
and barren chests
falling away steadily
our only steady thing
the gravity here
all from his dis-ease
is still an empty echo
tearing at flesh and cinders
eating inside out

feathers all gone now
stolen in the dry winter rush
there is no beating left
at his side nor in his head
of lashes that know
intangible wonder
where he is shaking
to turn it all off from burning

the horror of a wordless world
where no one feels what he can
where sight is near gone
and he holds face
so sternly like you'd want it
to finish those writings and siennas

still pulling at seams
that he wanted to work at
which keep breaking
and are all promised out
snapping, no matter how hard
they kept being arranged
knowing the lines won't stop
marking pale cheeks

invisible to the bone
one of many
just one face more
that couldn't be shown off
number one or not
his strings cut down
underneath the night
knowing his hands
won't work anymore at being

all in grey boy
because that's his colour
bright as his last shinning day
laid out in late light
his drinking not working
no words filling apparations
his cutting scrawlings empty still
showing only out the window sill
how faceless he will always be

� Bryan McLean Feb 12 2006

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