i came hear having heard about
the streets of gold
was born 1968 in the
dying light of autumn
grew up in vacant lots and
behind fences
in the rooms of strangers and
with the salt of their skin
on my lips
with their names peeling away
like old wallpaper
dogs in front yards or at
the throats of young boys
woman dead on the kitchen floor
no notes and then her
husband doesn't come home
anyway
she's found by her son
and i am not him
i am finally grown up
will only cry when the
last holy note has faded
No comments:
Post a Comment