Untitled

The poem, of course, never
saves anybody’s life. Think of it
more as a last supper scene,
friends and betrayers tucked in
close plus a single candle lit.
Take and read the bones
so broken for you and you and you.
The poem, of course, is remembrance.
 
 
 
 
 
 

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4 Comments

  1. patiricia on January 11, 2014 at 3:54 am

    Of course… beautiful.

  2. wynnegraceappears on January 11, 2014 at 2:37 pm

    favoriting this in my soul (apparently favoriting isn’t a word :)) I’ll try a noun. This…a fave 🙂

  3. pastordt on January 12, 2014 at 6:29 am

    Big exhale here. thanks.

  4. Demarlo on December 3, 2014 at 10:32 pm

    At last some ratlnoaiity in our little debate.

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