The moment when dead begin
to outnumber living–I’m sure didn’t
take long, us as ghosts wandering

blindly through a land beyond
dimensions we can see, taunted
by the pull of rag dolls in gutters…

Heartbreak, or blue presence filling
feet with animation against want,
but toward light. Search

for a way not to walk over all
the grave’s, soil rich with remorse
and loose ends. There’s nothing

more heavy than weight of mystery–
sun hardly glowing through haze
they try to convince us is sky

but we know the difference,
we just stopped caring when
dead fingers began to turn to pink

roses, trick us into falling, out
of necessity, don’t mention
the name, always shooting myself…


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