Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Final Page of the Brown Book (No Title Yet)

I watched as she eventually exhausted herself, her pace slowed to sunken stroll, relentless weave down dank, dirty streets
We're going to stay here for now she told me, grasping my waist with the tightest clench
We'll be safe amongst the vermin, trash and phantoms of homeless men past

That's all a dream now
Yes, if the last grasps for the cold air held any significance-they had to-she was returning to the crag where she began, most would call full circle
It is impossible to be anything but which you were born and bred

Everything thought about me was all wrong
And I can no longer control my instinct to see-saw in the farthest corners of your head

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