Sunday, October 30, 2005

Hymn

Outside the window, stacked in lines,
the air hums alive and the
pavement sings with the blood of others;
in this we travel
the barrel, the mechanism,
pointed at us from afar.
We sing the skies' fires,
the body moves continuous
as a ballet or an imagined
spatial transformation.
Sing these songs, these
hymns of the dead,
the ghosts wander hungry
and there is not enough
to share.

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15:13  
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