March 30, 2008
Grass is dull gray for miles and miles
and mist lingers the pathways
like beggars in the city
asking for lives to feed the poor
to feed the meadow of grass and stones
In my sleep I don't see anything
Just the dreams in my head
like the bones beneath me
Devoured as I break above
like the engraved stone for a pillow
that screams his name in my ears
While the rain falls as mine pours
While my bones creak with every move
in my pocket rests a knife
rusty with red and ready to be
-ed into the dirt around him
like him in the skin
like me in the heart.

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