Say what’s really
going through cold breeze,
sweet scent of cut bluegrass,
you’ve got me
in more ways than you know
but you’ve got better ways–
build your walls, build your
moat, your castle no longer
you. Hiding under
a sheet of laced-up love, oh,
Love, thin veils to peer behind…
there’s nothing
more painful than a phantom
who’s tongue has been cut
out, there’s no
way to ask him why he left,
there’s his shadow, heavy
in the air,
always, invisible fingers jabbing
into space below the clavicle.
Advertisements
