Saturday, November 12, 2011

tell a story

I met a boy with cracked hands today,
he told me he didn't love himself
i told him he should sleep
he started to cry and i held his
cracked hand so carefully and
told him he should sleep
and then i drank a glass of water and
we walked for some time down
so many streets i lost count
and all my words and all my
steps and every breath became
one blur and one breath and
i remember it happening like
so many photographs taken,
these beautiful streaming
thirtieths of a second that
wash like headrush
and the silence between the
camera opening it's mouth
and closing it is gaping
infinity and prayer orgasm to
the vastness of
forever and echoing and
echoing and echoing and
echoing and

before i can tell him i love him he
becomes dust and then
no dust and I'm left standing with
my shadow

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