Wednesday, May 15, 2013

giacometti, softly

you can't talk about christ
at four in the morning
and you can't talk about love

you can talk about light despite
the absence of it and so you do

you walk from room to room
watching your family sleep
and you try to remember their names

you look at the phone

at the front door

and at some point you realize
that money tastes like rust and that
all you can do is choke

at some point the sky fades from
black to grey and the baby wakes up

begins to cry

believes in you only because
he has yet to learn
anything else

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