Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Street Sweeper

there’s something so frail in tonight
like a semi-severed fingertip
held on
by a thin layer of skin
or rain under the streetlight
these teeth
they will never feel the same
the artificial fix
only brought more pain
the air is too warm
uneasy and strange
as phantoms pass
through minds
silent, deranged
then a roar
and a rush of wind
as hearts explode
and heads cave in
there’s a lump in your throat
though you know
it’s not cancer
sometimes you dream
that it’d be the answer
you wonder
why it’s hard to think
with a head full of booze
cause you’re drowning
in all
you’ve been trying to lose
dirt floating down
waking, picking up
broken bones from the ground

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