Thursday, 6 July 2017

The Memory of War



Let me tell you what I know about 
my broken heart
this is the rhythm of it falling apart
toss the stones in the river because
we are
we are coming up for air again

What did I even know about
guilt and sin
all of the dreams that
I was dying in
it was a curse it was a blessing it
was utter nothingness
until it skidded and came crashing
home

No telling how the earth will
record this disaster
whistling dixie in the wind
as if I had the answer
            ballet with fractured form
tripped up by vengeful rapture
the hammer flung against
the wall

Dismantled piece by piece into
a million parts
buried back with Santa at
the Christmas tree farm
what is dead is what is real to
the falling apart
we heard the siren but not the
alarm

I wonder how I will know when
the sky becomes my master
when dreams of yesterday stop
mocking me with laughter
tomorrow is today tornadoes
circling my trailer
I was wrong over
and over again

Now I whisper to the wind about
my broken heart
to unravel in slow motion
not a subtle art
toss the stones in the river because
I am
I am here alone at the end

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