By Stephen
Date: 2002 Sep 10
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My Alp's Cusp

The crispy mud, now long and dried,
lays bed beneath with sweet milk ambers 
And to the smelting cotton across the skies:

the rays spill orange upon this breezy ledge
and there's nobody in this world 
that could've stopped the things you've said

It rings like levitative     seeds 
sifting past my ears
The dawn besides no boundaries in air

The smell of fear, the cool heat sweating near
The grasp of what is, and what will not be
gaping my throat in swells of hurt 

And the tip of the tongue
swallowed in knots
and my saturnine snot

brings choking satisfaction
to the starving heart and halted breath 
For edges I tip on

urn for my breaking fails...
But for only one did I ever truly fall!
And to stand down now, is to stand up tall!