by Regina Branham

Created on: November 14, 2009

When time has shifted
white gates lost
passion and
rust-ruined rivers
run before your door

false truths be thrown
to lie upon your floor
nasty, dead fish -
stink, as lies, no more.

Stenched karma from
which liars smell -
dipped in batter
deep fried in hell

forehead branded
recipes of blamed
lies, you deny-while your
tongue chokes as
it swells

bones swallowed of
which fish you forgot
you had long ago caught;
truth's vapors seeping out
your pores

rust-ruined rivers
rush in once more
as the sea does to shore

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