Sunday, June 20, 2010

For Joe

The wretched little blue light purple
sky is falling yellow upon us,
tipping the scales and rewriting our losses,
closing up our gains
behind us, sometimes before us
though she doesn't tell you why
or for whom,

leaves pulling past us in the
somehow cool summer
sweating hot and melting ice cream
over your hands and its sticky and soft
and tastes different
when you really think about it,

it's not like it was when we were kids
and didn't know each other
and lived so far apart,
infinitely far flung doubling back over universes
that the world had to bring us together,
making faint noises
like bells ringing or horns honking
megaphones humming pop-goes-the-weasel,
the the scar opened up
at its center and
unknowingly sucked us all in.

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