Thursday, May 16, 2002

This morning I saw the mirror in me,

against a mottled sky and forgiveness withheld.

A dream fossilized is as arteriosclerosis,

my son- Dear son,

create your mass and become as you pray

throbbing soul and shadow coursing with each sun's pass overhead;

beneath, below the telephone line take cover from rain,

(because what I want is what we need-)

escape from this jagged resource my only desire.

With each pass of that sun

skin stretches and doesn't quite return

cell walls have kept me here for so long, they tire too soon of their labour;

remain in our work

and so the shadow remains,

and shall remain as each truefriend passes

my cord of silver then mystify will

bringing with it the Sun.

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