building from the bottom, April 2009

January 17, 2011
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incapable of mustering the words
or gathering the strength to hold my lips shut
unable to turn my palms down
or spit out my words
stuttering; lo-lo-lo...
losing it
and gathering it
and it floats into my nose
and up into my brain
everything i see is associated with
you, i'm going in-in-in...
i'm losing it

i'm lost beyond lost
and the boys are growing older
but the center of your hands
makes the sunshine seem colder
i see the seed in the ground
and the colors motivating
and please excuse this rhyme
but i thank god that we're da-da-da...
damaging my wax shell
catching drippings in a cup
and i swear, to god, you light the sky
the stars are looking up

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