Wednesday, August 15, 2012

To A Singer







You're crying as you sing
to send a memo to his being,
and you would wiggle your butt
toward the audiences
whose hearts fall apart!
The air sits quiet,
Words blaze for nothing,
Day fails above the hill,
A summer fugue is woven,
fish flings wild under the water,
Bygones stir but no more matter.





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