Stuff from my Cell Phone

Thursday, July 24th, 2008 9:51 pm

Sexton

But suicides have a special language.

Like carpenters they want to know which tools.

They never ask why build.

….

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,

raging at the fruit, a pumped up moon,

leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of the book carelessly open,

something unsaid, the phone off the hook

and the love, whatever it was, an infection.







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Stuff from my Cell Phone



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