Appalachia Rising (Bondwood)

October 20, 2010
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I miss you, I don’t even recognize you,
I want to see you.
Mom found my pipe, my words,
Never said any herself about it.
My younger brothers won’t give a damn
To sneak around like we had to.
Pick up, lights off, end of the street,
Out on a stiff, 2:30 run.
Speaking for myself, I
Still run from the give up,
The silo top peeking outta
The water, the birthday
Counts; heaviest digits and
Joint pains: all tattoos saggy,
Throats heading out,
All morals at war.
One time,
Though it has been a minute,
We made a stasis,
Breathed our own form.
Breathed it outta rasping voices
And bloody pens.
One time,
Though its been a minute,
We aligned stars ourselves,
Counted only the ones we wished to recognize;
All mountains at war with ‘em,
All quests to close to pass.

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