October 20, 2011
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Lights go bright,
speak tightly, fall back
and take the train
to the divide.
It's heavy in
summer when you
wait for hearts in
heat to expel.
But we wait for the
light burning down
the line. And we say
it's been so good and true.
We've said all sorts
of shabby words, rotting
in the stench of August
spill. We should have left
a heart to offer, make
a spark in the heat of
so much faulty love.
Ignite the shattered room
and keep the light
on a fuse, hurting
only the hearts not
ready to give in.
And now it's randy and blue,
and we're tired from the
incredulity that sparks the
lighted divide.
Sparks on the summer air,
Autumn dispelling hearts
in short supply.
We're so ready to begin.
We're so ready to love.
We're ready for the fall
of the broken barrier.
Break the line, the spine,
and keep it burning bright.
Take turn making light
and keep it ablaze.
Tell me something true.
Possibility shattering teeth
on the broken echo
of our intentions heard
so many times before.
Speak so solemnly,
they say such words
and the voices keep our
heart on the precipice of hope.
Waiting for something
good and true, it's so
hard in the days of ending.
August's going grey
in the chill of disuse.
We're ready, we say.
But we keep breaking
the hearts on lines of
immaturity. And we wait,
and say that it'll be good
and loved. But we've lost it
a thousand times before.
Fall back on the dreaded
spills of August rain.
It's been so dry and
the rain tastes like
the hearts ready to be
uncovered and uninhibited.
We're so ready, we say.
And we conquer and divide
the line of love.
And we say we'll break
the divide tomorrow.
And so we lose
an unspoken heart.
But it's OK.
August's not yet finished
and we can love the hearts
so true tomorrow.
But we're so sick with
intention, we lose the spark
and the summer air is
concrete from all the
love that will get used tomorrow.

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