Saturday, March 02, 2013


sunlight like the fist of god
and then all of the days
i've wasted with my eyes closed

this quiet house on this
dead-end street in this
dying town

will you stand beside it
while it burns?

will you stand outside the
room of hanged men
and count backwards from twenty?

and what if it's here that i
finally tell you i love you?

i believe in words
no matter how often they fail me

i believe in july and in august
and that all of my promises
will be broken

look at my hands

both of them open and
both of them empty and
waiting for the moment to pass

waiting for their mistakes
to be forgiven

whatever you say in the silence
that surrounds us
never the poem that i
wanted to hear

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