god'swife19 Dec 2002

I gave up remember?
We are all the same tribe making war over language, belief.
It's the Old Story.
The blood is the beauty after all.
Wounds decry just how much you can survive.
Look at me
I believe I could outlive the crucifix.
Fathers forgive me, Mothers forgive
I know these words count for something.

I saw ice packed blue from a healthy distance go down
the trees buckling like matchsticks.
No one made a sound.