and the grass all dead and the
weeds spilling across the driveway
no sons of ghosts no
need for lies
sunlight on faded flags until
the idea of america becomes
confused
i have my own theories about
who needs to be killed
i have a headache
three in the afternoon
end of july
and the air too thick to breathe
don’t make a sound
don’t waste your time on prayer
call this place
you’ve arrived at the ocean
or call it the desert
and then consider the need for rain
park in front of the apartment of
a girl you used to know
and then wait
five years becomes ten
ten becomes twenty
don’t let your children
catch you growing old
don’t be afraid to consider
suicide from time to time
in the end you can only
reject your despair or
embrace it
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