Monday, April 17, 2006

Fragmented

As children we formed
inarticulate seraphs
another cold, Indiana morning -



Behind the walls of memory, clowns paint their faces
At home, the
hidden



Sisters and brothers,
the story is finished
not completed



And I cannot release you
from what comes
any more than then



No matter how many times I write
the happened to
of us



None have changed
The words line up, cringe
dutifully

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home