11/23/2010

It's always too much or too little
Or not at all
The truth is I am doing it so often
All around my exhausted lumpy head
Feeling it or holding it or
Thinking how I can keep it in a sentence
Forever
But I never can
Even here right now

How could any tongue-d sounds tell
this warmness
And the light of a growing red
Deep inside
And the rumbling of that hunger

That I feel

Don't you know that words are dead anyway?

You told me my eyes were beauty
i thought that meant you could see my truth

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