Thursday, December 16, 2010

the snow sits softly
on a porch a gave myself to years ago
it makes a promise I could never keep
to die here
to live here
I see the intersection poetry
I see the future pulling past
I can get out of here
raise the sails and set the mast
you'll be beauty pictures
you'll be my last real agenda
I've not seen anything
to tell me I was never here
make me ask the questions
to the story I tell myself
so I can come back here
foresaking heart and health
let me back one more time
so I can see the cutest things
I'd only cut myself up for back then

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