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Soft Bones

August 20, 2009

Desolation
In the smoothness of my arms
Too weak to hold a grudge
Against your forehead

If it shatters
The tiles
When I throw it down
like I was mistaken forever
Does it make a sound?
If you are not around
to drop your eyes
Through the earth

Lead lava’s dead
It’s said
done and rotting
a rocking chair
With afternoon eyes
Through old white sheets

like your soft bones and how they
fell apart in my fingers
among the heaps
of the earth
in a field of dead wheat

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