3/30/12

for my poet friends--

let's write to find the edge of Hell

Eurydice is the anatomy of our song

it echoes out the damned

they wait for our mouths, wet

words: some spiry angels bloated

in our lungs to bursting poems

we thought this was what love sounded like

we thought we touched something

a blitzen dawn only in our drunk drunk sonnets

there is no body here--no LIGHT

I am little more than breath

words again: failed LIGHT

another cut on my hand

another breath to work through my cuts

or to find a little god maybe

no--I've got no hands to mend

no hands to patch up these failed words

here I trespass on the SUN

and I've grown into my own criminal echo

learning to die

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