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July 12, 2007 |
His fingers splay in what I take to be
a second chance
a pulse that flutters through the air
dripdrop
onto my heartstrings, his sad eyes.
I cannot breathe but for the chalice in my throat.
I cannot speak but for my hate,
and my heart like a tight fist
knocking a patient question against my ribs. |
| (3 comments) | who is john galt? |
