Monday, December 28, 2009

45*21

trees echo purple
when the ground opens and it will
everything is a coincidence
when all things drift out of place
and every face is foreign
light goes to black and dissolves in the aisle
this is almost the state of perfect grace
and wonder again on which side of the gun
you may be given this grace again
light turns to silver
along with the evaporating question
you are an agent but of whom
the gun is under the pillow
and you begin to assimilate
but still it is hard to enjoy the HOLIDAYS
and the bills, all one-hundreds
fall from the heavens
and when we fall from grace again
make sure to take the safety off
and then you'll know your home again
and the ground has closed

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