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Is it in weakness,
That we aren’t sheer to what we abide by
And grip; our beliefs?

Is it in terror,
That we withdraw the thin of our lip
From where it rests
And hold our own eyes at our feet?

Does time force you to believe?
Everything you were told not to.
Do you hear
The two things you never want to
My voice
And the facts of your breath
Do you hear?


And in sadness
Is that when a defeat
That could fit into your pocket
And hide
Become wider than your cheeks –reddening with grief?

Will our faces stain
Like raspberry rashes on my shirt
If I keep myself feeling
The way myself feels?

Where does the sun go at the end of the day?
Is it really heading for Japan?
In all fairness of the drift of ships off the ports
That follows the ocean wave
Maybe Columbus planned to go the wrong way

I do believe
In time my skin will crinkle
Crisp like the ends of my routine toast
But will the nerves let me know
Still
What I feel?

When you’re young they tell you, you don’t actually know what you feel
You don’t actually feel that way
But is it just that your old man hands have no nerves
To feel everything I can?





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