Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Day 628: A promise

That our bodies would last forever, that
our screams wouldnt turn to dust,
we would build us a beautiful song
that our distance was something to fear
mother hung it over a bass line
tapped along when our fingertips wanted
covered the streets with a story
barried our tears in the rubble of rhythm
the body dont have
any other way
not another road to flatten
not another sculpture to build
not another promise to lie
a mother watched over the broken
a line of bricks lain in the path
so that our bodies may have somewhere to remember
where there is nothing left
but song

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