Tuesday, August 14, 2007

A Song for Twelve degrees in August

There was no one who
Brought you to your knees
Boot to the head
Like you’re out for revenge
You pesky rat
Like it wasn’t enough for you to chase the sun
To make the white dark
There was no one who
Danced on your grave
Taunted you like a defeated fat old school yard bully
Smiled at your sudden demise
For your make-believe oppression thru the sun break
To make the red skin
Back off winter
Inhabit those deep dark places
Where your icy schemes conceived antidotes like
And what happens between the duvet and the posturepedic
Go back there
Till the dusk stretched sun has made us all to inebriated to remember
Your frigid handshake at the door

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