Sunday, May 27, 2012

Those nights that smell of silence,
when strangers wallow between my secrets
and words bed their cruelest friends,
when I mother in dangerous succession
skeptical truths and lifeless living,
when I wear the laughter of fear
with its thickening clouds,
and my dreams migrate from unknown to unknown,
broken only in sweat and
unsought flapping of clipped wings,
its guilt, its protest,
when I am lonelier than this night,
when I am the darkness of its wine,
its dissolving inebriety,
its excluding insatiety,
those sick sick times
I seek you,
those bastard hopes, 
brutal bruises
fathered by anonymous love.

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