there is a man and he is talking
about his life answering questions
i am apparently asking him.

i am forgetting to listen and staring
at the wall behind his head and
God is there and he is not smiling.

in the man, there are temporary pauses,
heartfelt sighs, run-on sentences.

in me, there is only breathing and a
cold, damp space where compassion used

to be.

10/31/2003

Posted on 10/31/2003
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