April 1999
Still I will apologize to the
atmosphere breaking,
to the sun the moon the
wind for this rending I caused.
For what is a little uglier now,
a little more fragile,
so much more wronged.
All for the privilege of
falling nauseous to the ground.
Touch me with your forgiveness,
go ahead, shame me some more.
Because never you worry--
sorrow is catching...
catching and never letting me go.
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