Friday, August 05, 2016

prelude for the suicide madrigals

song of grey light, 4 a.m. and
sober down rain-smeared streets

believe or
don’t believe

no wings either way and the
houses here all look the same

crows worry the bones
of small animals

this man i know has been planning
his escape for 24 years now

woman he loves presses dried
flowers into her book of days

tells me she’s not sure
she’s actually alive
and i’m afraid to answer

been breathing underwater for
a long time now
and pretending it’s enough

been thinking about a death
that others can profit from

a film for sylvia,
cold silence for ted

possibility of sunshine
later in the week

keep asking assia what she thinks
about this, but all she ever
does is turn away

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