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Published: 2009-07-29 22:10:21 +0000 UTC; Views: 177; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 2
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Description
dog-eared fingers crumple up,their thick, fleshy throats swelling like
bulbous worms;
they undulate with
that green sickness -
flailing with the pervasive
odor of a need for greed.
white hands match a
starched shirt,
so pale next to the bloody
purple of his suit,
shot through with the deep
bruises of red and burgundy.
his tie does not match -
yellow as the jaundiced world he lives in,
it hungrily laps up the color from his face;
sucking life as he inhales amenities.
flakes of a check waft past his blank face,
blown by the wind he no longer feels,
touched by green eyes he cannot comprehend -
the only color he knows
is the virulent
chartreuse of his clients' bills;
the oily myrtle of his dreams.
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Comments: 4
chief-spazz [2009-07-30 06:41:10 +0000 UTC]
The imagery is really something, but I can't make head nor tail of the last stanza. Vice is a terrible thing.
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
pardonM3 [2009-07-30 01:00:39 +0000 UTC]
Whoa, now that's quite an accompaniment.
I was particularly caught by the description of his fingers (wow, I've never seen fingers described that way) and tie ('lapping the color from his face' - that's just cool).
👍: 0 ⏩: 0