as to the rest,
there was certainly something forgotten. there was nothing to talk
over on the stone step of the old men's hall. the snow
smelled of branches; i am allergic to elm when it burns.

starting fires with the empty vodka handles might
be the thing that's killing; or it might be that father's day
only comes around in july.

the answer to all those questions is i don't want to but i want to want;
so i do it in between. we all get something out of it; don't complain.

say the things one says; i won't flesh the lines.
i wouldn't put us into this story.
i'm right to frame the steps that way: 
all winter, no blood.

02/05/2007

Posted on 02/06/2007
Copyright © 2024 Indigo Tempesta