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May 16, 2005
wooden boxes
felt ribbons
lying on a grave marker;
strictly regulate my double standards
sworn to sobriety
toast it with a shotgun shotglass
negligee satin touch
virgin skin alluding to wet apint
organized mayhew, calculated clutter set aside
luckily no one pays as much attention as I
to the dirt beneath my fingerprints
to the cowardice behind the wisp of my smile
the absence of echoes, of voices
fill the canyon inside
draw silence from the heavens
these thefts in my heart
sever any hope of sunlit afternoons
by draping themselves over
the skylight to my soul
if only an utterance of relief
were a memoir
rather than something
to aspire to
Posted by Drexler at May 16, 2005 03:57 PM