the spaces between lost and not forgotten

the words hang about the room in the spaces between lost and not forgotten

I’m drifting

between midnight poems and dreams

the words hang about the room

between white sheets and morning

they linger on leather

cushions

bent and twisted

how many can escape before it’s too late?

run

yell

no

sit quietly

shhhhhhhh

hold the back of your thumb to your lips

legs crossed with one knee up

listen

and count the ways

the words

break

and count the days

and bow your head to the weight

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This entry was published on August 15, 2011 at 10:28 pm and is filed under Life. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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