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Saturday, March 19, 2011

dot, dot, dot on the ground

in the beginning of each end,
we've savored each of them
for the loss they entailed.

i trace my words like artillery fire,
just to make sure they make it
allllllllllllllllllll the way,
to the target
(e'x', marks the spot).

now we bask,
in their absence
for the woes
we carry along, and,
the battles we fight in our minds
when the least of our worries
take over.

with a strength
i cannot account for,
i have stitched each blasted,
and withered fragment,
back together.

but the puzzle,
pieces together
without any discernible image;
only the gesture,
over which i hold my hand.

and the jester,
prickles my tongue
"grin and bear it"
he smiles through my teeth,
where we stood
like exes and eyes,
ready for the shedding of skin;
the bearing of fruit;
and the resulting trickle of truth,
to land at our feet.

truth,
that now i stitch, again
into the lists
we've carved in our arms,
of the names we regret.

leaving a trail of blood
in an ellipsis,
allllllllllllllllllll the way
to the last word.

in the end,
we've bled like stuck pigs for so long,
we share the same pale,
paper reflection,
no matter where we choose to look for it.