told her i wasn't the bleeding horse,
said this isn 't the burning house
even as the windows began to explode outward
the end of june and hot
the face of america touched
by the hand of god
not beautiful, not filled with wisdom,
and i turned to the man on my left and
told him i was sorry for the truth,
and he confused this with the truth
he leaned across the table to a woman i had
once loved
and told her she was a whore
offered it like an apology
held out his hand
but only after she'd slipped beneath
the surface
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