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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
times

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,
composure,
of your embracing wit and
soul,

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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