| this town:
|
| near-demilitarized.
|
| carrier pigeons
|
| commit ritual suicide.
|
| pleas for pity
|
| and blank responses collide.
|
| tied to their ankles.
|
| tied like tired anchors.
|
| but i know
|
| you drink
|
| like a fish out of water
|
| and your everywhere, everywhere,
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| without a drop for me.
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| we were land lovers
|
| together.
|
| or don’t you remember?
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| don’t you remember?
|
| and between empties and keys
|
| i know you’ve fought wars.
|
| but your a regular
|
| Benedict when you wander, like
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| a derelict,
|
| house to house.
|
| you’re a regular
|
| traitor.
|
| we stood and shook red-handed,
|
| burying the hatchet,
|
| even as our legs cried out
|
| to run in different directions.
|
| the innest crowd is throwing up last night’s party
|
| on a floor that isn’t theirs
|
| 'til even their bodies hate their guts.
|
| we’ve worked this swords to ploughshares
|
| and back until our shared secrets were cannon fodder,
|
| and comforts caused a coup d’etat.
|
| bell, book, and candle.
|
| so are you gonna to drop me like your morals?
|
| you gonna drop me like you promised?
|
| you gonna drop me like our ideals?
|
| gonna drop me like our dreams?
|
| or are you gonna drop me like your concern
|
| for others and being honest?
|
| you gonna drop me like all logic?
|
| beyond reason, there you are.
|
| (you can’t draw the bow back and blame the arrow.)
|
| (we stood and shook red handed,
|
| burying the hatchet,
|
| even as our legs cried out to run.) |