Thursday, May 02, 2013


I pictured us kissing at a bus station
and a red star fell through the bunch.
All of human history is a load of shit,
except the unspoken.
I saw a sculpture with piano feet
hanging just above us, and our bodies
were raining.
You'd bought your ticket and clung to it,
though all the information was scorched out.
You were not my stem, but I blossomed
and fell off.
In pieces, memory of life returned, we
were unwilling to view it.
Play the sad drum, play the insane
drum; this is the motionless

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