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Friday, October 05, 2007

12:30 am

An incredible ache
like the time you dared yourself to clutch
ice-cubes in your fingers
till nothing was left but water.

Here lies one who waits
for the cool drip-trip to write her name
with frozen-old-man-bent fingers.

Here lies one who chooses to tell the truth-

(that is behind
noisy psychotropic legging around a back n' white world,
that leaves territorial markings pungent tears where it
is ok to pause)

-The fact that we will all
smoke cheat cry weep
gulp rage suck kill
fuck break run sleep,
pull strings spin yarn
then darn the souls of ourselves
when fifty,
quietly
stirring cotton white robes in government homes, because:

Sometimes the pain comes not from what has happened,
but is due to the scientificonstantaxiomofreality that

Ice changes to water, water to ice. And that this
does not end....