by on June 22, 2011 :: 0 comments

Colorless as rain,
a zipper either grins
like a crowbar in a cash box
or sneers like a blackboard
waiting for equations sleeping in chalk.

Sometimes zippers open with the squeal
of an ambulance siren, other times
with the slow cracking of paint
chipping from a canvas.

The triumph of surprise
no one can ever anticipate
comes cramped beneath a zipper.

editors note:

With so much to fear in the dark, it’s nice to know there are things—even though we don’t know how they look what shades of the spectrum comprise the colors they’re made of—are there to love us… or there for us to love it. – tm

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