They were always captivating while
painting their names in the dust
in the corner of the courtyard.
The umbrellas couldn't hide the sun completely
and so it liked to beam
against their broken hearts
while they explained over cigarettes that
they never asked the wind to drag their bodies,
as if gravity showed no mercy.
If only they'd realize the air
is not sick, but full of overwhelming art. . .
if only they'd taste it.

01/26/2006

Author's Note: Also another old poem but no revisions.

Posted on 01/26/2006
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