Saturday, November 23, 2013

Its Valentine

Echoing but not beginning
hanging in the air
yesterday’s dead
morning is for mourning
I finally figured it out
but it kept on weeping
apparently I was what
it wept about
sparrows for commas
the it paper-thin
on which the I was scribbling
leaving no impression
slowly the storm retreated
like Genghis Khan from Vienna
when a saint showed up
think how often
everything’s over
yet it never ends

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