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Sit and Listen
Sit and listen, he talks and she sits.
Roof meets house,
walls meet floor,
tablemeets chair, and chair meets me.
Even when my words are loud he will not hear
thunderstorms, the gongs and cymbals can't be heard, just seen.
In her mind she thinks of a spring day, she lets her brain settle on this one thought
the skies are painted black and blue,
when the two meet they are pretty
what looks pretty in her chair will certainly not look pretty everywhere
and deep down her black and blue are stale.
The chair is hard, tightly woven
bound tight like you
I sit and feel the burn of the black and blue
the chair has a sizable cushion but when the body hits it still stings.
Somehow still falling through
ground is hard, and I'm here for good
I'm up to my neck in the woven trap, and you sit and keep me tightly wrapped
now the legs break off the chair
getting up to run, fleeing with terror and despair
the back falls and is not caught.
I still sit with my webbing around my neck
tied and taut.
He can see and smell his anger,
and now he thinks about the battle he has fought.
His woman is gone and his chair is wrought.
His house is a mess and his table is missing pieces
the day is done, he thinks about everthing he hasn't won.
When he sleeps at night in his bed
the pillow is pushed above his head.
For it is worse to feel
feel the gentle touch
he holds his head in his hands and gets a certain rush.
Maybe someday his bones will rot
and she will be oh long forgot
but please let her spring day be not,