Friday, May 18, 2012

deconstruction.




a stranger cannot see
you anymore with
muddy desperation
manipulating the air

a small victory is
an empty echo
of your outbursts
as a token reward

the cost is more
than you can hold
feeding small mouths
but there is no 

true insurance, just
bottles of wine to carry
you through 
a string of days

you have moved on
climbed over
the sagging walls of 
that dismal box 

you left it there
it is clear now that
truth will never
fit in a container


© 5.18.12 heather brager  

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