Sunday, September 2, 2012

the angst when I look down and see a dead body, and, looking down, look up at myself,

and elsewhere, behind or aside, somewhere--

who else?

the cold sweat, the gaping sky speaks: change

the road that never ends speaks: change

and before the sky swings to touch my feet as the landscape tells me it's over (no, never)
figure that I'm fighting for nothing. again.

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