and four years later
you ask the drowning boy what
he dreams about
but he doesn't answer
you watch the helicopters circle
the missing girl's body
there is a need here for some
song of hope
but my hands have begun
to crack and bleed
there is a need for dali
who understood the importance of
visions
who understood our fear of both
the known and the unknown
and who knew that america was
destined to devour itself
and for three years
i lived next door to a man who
refused to believe in the holocaust
for twenty-seven
i had a father who breathed only
the rarefied air of martyrs
who choked to death on it
two months before my wedding
who was vague history by
the time my son was born and
his ashes only a faint bitter taste
in the back of my throat
and the idea of saviors had
given way to the rotting wood
of mortgaged houses
the phone continued to ring
but i had stopped answering it
i was reading about a boy lost
while playing by the river
it would end up being the only
story from his life that
i ever knew
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