Posted: July 10, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

Futile Lord


We had so few words,

but what could be said?


Margin to margin we stood

in lines, hands wanting.


Rain wet hair we walked

shaggy dogs in a city night.


Save yourself, you said,

I am already lost beyond…


Could neon puddle the

street like foreign letters?


Read my footseps, my

spiraling fingerprints.


I bought a blank book,

a bottle of amber wine.


Look, the pages sting

with stain and old tears.


After the last sun, what

else could go wrong?


I want you heart and soul.

You give an empty body,

The relief at your grave.




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