Friday, May 02, 2014

a belgian surrealist

in the silences between
words i thought i
was saying something

in the moment of
truth i lied
late afternoon

sound of breaking glass or the sun
crashing down to the horizon by
small degrees

sound of denial

weed-filled lots or
burned-out houses
always these choices made by
corrupt saints and crippled gods

always these rivers thick with blood

these corpses piled high down village
streets and in between the silence and the
stench there is only the heavy buzzing
of 100,000,000 flies

in between the moment of hope and the
moment of despair  there are an
infinite number of empty lifetimes and what i
remember in the middle of all
senseless violence is the night i left you
what i remember is the night you left me

all of the days that fell in between

our small acts of grace and our
small acts of mercy and in
the spaces between them just
these shimmering wasted hours

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