Tuesday, July 09, 2013

Individual

Oftentimes,
there are four of us
each one abandoned
in this small, hot town

And usually,
the night is so thick
I automatically begin
waving words in the air

Shuffling them
sorting, pantomiming
their sad, wandering odds
until they fall away, decay...

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we're worth it

Already unthinkably wild things have been done and said (by my mom, natch) and wilder things have been said in support (by Big A who is her ...