Wednesday, May 10, 2006

this is ending

We are an effortless race, chasing the tides to see the distance.
We are a barren few, rending the witch with barrow and forceps.
We are an easy crew, scraping alive and all with fever.

I am indigo, a chosen river.

And fly, tell, pray we land on soft earth today.
Because wickedness is a fortune teller’s eyes
Counting the money

And telepathy sinks like time or
The crunch came at daybreak, on a summer’s morning.
The whistle was blown at too many stops
With not enough signs to show
Where we were going.

Encased, I was
In soft clothing,
Grandmother sheet that needed mending.
Lies tell the best truths
We can never know
Until we feel the feeling.
And all comes clean,
In a dirty kitchen,
In some man’s bedroom.

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