the wretched bones, be by my side

Tuesday, Apr. 01, 2003 10:11 pm

Oh dear jesus, if the sparks on the black and gray streets had sounded,
don't you worry
my deaf ears
would not be bothered.
in the morning, prostrated before a bottle and cold floor
never want to be back there
always will be back there
your shivering hands have been down that road before
led away into the plower's earth
my deep rooted sins, never growing
into trees of confession
and either way you choose,
the hymns of our children
couldn't speak any truths
that would explain why I'm found at the bottom of a slow drink.

the mumbling over taken, over under and through, like a cavalry charge. His judgement was coming down in fire and brimstone, perceivable to no one else.
there again, lost in misanthropic lament, self denial of key facts:
1)
2)

can you see his conflagration in the fog of a war of attrition,
explosions rocked Baghdad tonight
then the sound of nothing, a great,
deafening
nothing

in sorrow's hand, there stands a place between God and man

.new .older .profile .email .guestbook .soundtrack :: defect

dland exuant omnes your voice drifts away into lost binary alleyways it echoes photography

last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004

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