a room filled
with broken objects in
a house
waiting to burn
is this what you dreamt of
as a child?
a man wearing
his funeral shoes and
an insincere smile
an empty bird cage
a sun without heat
any number of
meaningless objects that
add up to the same life
your mother lived and all the
baby does is cry
all the man does
is read the words of
dead south american poets
and pretend to
understand
and the difference betweencold and numb
is a subtle one when
everything you hold falls
through your fingers
to the floor
and the weight of the sky
is brutal
but necessary
you have
spent your life believing
this lie without
question
****
(old stuff from a journal that probably no longer exists)
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