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Untitled 2 (7/14/10)

August 15, 2011

maybe your dreams slow down,
go harder with each passing fight

arising temper stroked,
you let the light go out once too many

so the curl of a fist breaks the air
just as you breathe in-

so that encouraging smile
is sucked out with anger

your will to talk about
the vengeant songs are
just enough to resurrect
a muted while

of your erasing shoulders,
of your embracing wit and

you’d better come of age to console
the fever-heat that you inspire

so foul,
but sweet stuck in
the joy of admiration

all that’s left in the pile
after the fire

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