Each time
I started to
To say something
There is yelling
Voices bewailing their dead
Guns go off
Or cannons roar
Not cannons. Rather things
So up-to-date and fierce
I don’t even know what they’re rightly called
Sometimes I can hear
People begging for their lives
From those there to harm them
And from those that cannot hear them
I open my mouth to say something
And then I shut it again
__
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
From the Dictionary of Sleeplessness
memory is just a mix-and-match of a hundred doors and a hundred songs reverie is very nearly recovery the surprise surplus from my unspe...
-
At had us pose for this pic up at Aunt R's place on Lake Huron so he could put it up in his dorm. "Don't tur... -
Today is the birthday of the best sister in the whole world (mine:)! Happy, Happy Birthday, Chelli! [AA, my favorite aunt in the whole world...
-
Friends and old neighbors shutting it down in honor of John Crawford. _
No comments:
Post a Comment