26 November 2010 § Leave a comment

she wondered where
she spent all those years
wringing out her soul and
drowning out her vocal static
that blasted through the woofers
but only when he wasn’t looking for
the numbers that she added in her head
or waiting for the fissure in her poems that
she said were never finished – sometime later on
i found ’em. we had stuffed them underneath a bed
that no mystery was held in, no master with a key had
been searching for his missing galaxy – no, it’s not in there,
but the fire spread empty and envy all over that scene of agony
in the darkening garden where benevolence was fittingly starving and felt
as if it were shamefully dying, been kicked in the stomach and for the wordless,
inspiring.

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