Garrett
is aware
stilt-legged stages
will collapse, under slight pressure,
predisposed to drop every moment he obliges
these strange genetics to believe the ending ever could have been any different.
Still he cannot help but await the next rumination on past and future failures,
slapping him with the same soft, cold voice that Sharon used
so many times, so long ago –
he indulges this pain,
a good trade –
her voice.
Sharon
knows full well
the way women crawl
up inside to live forever
like the roots of some beautiful weed that cannot die
or the words to a song that Garrett thinks was written only to drive him slowly mad.
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Comments
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Ohhh, HELLLLLL yeahhh...



