Tuesday, August 22, 2006

miro's house

these kittens still blind and
these men who grind their skulls
beneath boot heels

the shadow cast by faith
when it's held up to the sun

the sun which is dying

and so your own death
approaches quicker

the people you love
smile as they enter the room

step delicately over the bones
and the broken promises

tell each other what a
decent bastard you were

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