Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Til The Sun Turns Black by Ray LaMontagne

nebulae

caught up
in the twisting
science fiction

of reality   i exert

these forces of change
within

myself,    i,

fixed in one place, (i)
smile

like before (the face you know) so
that my

hairs stand up
beside you,
quite

(next to you) electric    and

this tired bunch
of

static nothings  (i) cling to,
like a sock on

the back
of a dress,

hold on to me
when

you are gone.


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