Tuesday, November 20, 2012

This Body Made Of Wind Chimes

Sleep with me, asleep. Hold my hands,
with your hands or inside
your mouth.

There aren't any tea leaves to read.
There aren't any poems worth reading.
There aren't any novels left unread.

I am sad and all the words are red
and white and quietly parallel

Parking between other words.

Let's get up.
Let's do something.

Let's just put on Queen. No one can
sleep with Freddie Mercury
screaming in their ear.

It's too windy and everything is
smashing into something else.

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