I erased your words today,
poetic wish
for a time beyond suffering.
Every communique tells us of
your lonely path
your unbearable pain
your grace
how you sublimate it all to wisdom:
Fuck off.
You dug your hole
to flatter the acoustics of your screaming
and it belittles us.
There's a reason
what hearts make
is called a beating.
Distribute to your colleagues:
This entry was posted
on Friday, October 16th, 2009 at 9:29 am and is filed under Poetry, Smart-Sounding Babble.
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