the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Friday, February 19, 2010

The Deep Red Gem That Purifies Light

I'm bringing shovels, but never bricks,
I'm drawing sticks instead of straws,
Breaking my jaw trying to break even
Without ever breaking bread.
But every day I'm getting closer
To breaking my head
On this concrete realism,
The field on which I am played;
The flagrant foul was that I stayed.

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