the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, February 26, 2011


There were all sorts of levers and traps in your accented genuinity.
Every strap that held your paling wrists down
Hugged your skin against bone and swelled your hand,
Little red blood cells swirled like velvet goldfish
Breathing a purpose they didn't think twice to keep in mind.
With so much uncertainty in your fabrications and designs,
Your names were threaded with black sharpie lines,
And if I ever had a chance to fix it, I'd do everything the same.
If I ever wake up again, I'd ask you to repeat your name.

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