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