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Simplicity

Your misdirected view
Lying to believe
Profane and childish
Swallow it down
Feel it stick
Meat for pointed bones
Retching poisoned air
The field is burning far below
Ashes like wisdom
Soft and subtle
Weak and broken
Mark your forehead
Smear your eyes
Now denial
Now escape
Now longing
Leap of faith
Blinding light of gleaming spies
From in the hollow
Planets rise.

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Dawn in an Hour

Dawn is in an hour;
in a night.
A light on the long street
on the grey river,
on a long walk of broken clays.
It takes only a streetlight
to bare the sighs,
the yawn of dark alleys,
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the great peace
of telling without cause,
without want.
The arm stretches
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the body doubles its warmth.
Laughter snaps
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heart combines with heart.
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The Day My Brother Flew

The day my brother flew,
I prayed for the last time;
Asked for his acceptance,
A chance to say goodbye.
Stood inside the chapel,
Whispered through the motions,
Knowing in my chest
I did not believe.
Months gone from that day,
I stood inside a basement,
Staring out the window,
Chainlink in my eyes.
A host of white lights came,
Gathered right beside me,
Waited till I turned,
Slowly sank away.
I never told my folks.
They could not believe it.
I don't know what I saw,
If I’m lying to myself.
The day my brother flew,
I sat down on a stairstep,
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He lived and enjoyed life.
I don’t even like it.
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This Is How They Talk

There's another part, always,
that doesn't want to go,
a shape more practiced
than my humble sincerities,
my tilted resolutions.

I forget to relax my knees,
That I should soften my jaw,
take lessons from the glass,
from the sidelong blurs,
and oblong silhouettes;

take in the everyday words
That clatter around my body.
I should brush against these threads,
learn their girth and texture.

This is how they move,
in great thrusts, driven
by asteroids and thunder.

This is how they talk,
in echos and gasps,
looking right at you.