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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 09:08:14 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 164814
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => remember
[time] => 2011-02-16 18:41:46
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => I wrapped rosary beads around a handful of forget-me-nots A bruised bouqet So next time I visit your grave I’ll remember to pray Lately whenever you come to mind I tense up and try to astrally project images of clenched fists towards heaven Was god the woman who cut you off Was is the slow turn Was it the guard rail that didn’t exist Or was it the river they dredged a 2 ton 4 ounce metal stillborn out of Once your dead heart was on dry land They cut the cable umbilical Sometimes I wish that knotted roots Shaped like your fingers Held your cold casket as firm as you held pencils When you used to draw for a living That way when people asked I could just say you were a river Instead we trapped you in brass You exist uselessly as handfuls of powder Somewhere in that cluttered home office Next to the bottle of jameson I stole The night you didn’t come home And those books about god God God sees what god sees And god does what god does God’s gone and given And god’s here to listen Gods given some great gifts But what god’s got going has got some gaping holes And I don’t give a god damn if god agrees But god’s gotten way out of hand I spread grins with lips skewered with hooks And spout tears like leaking oil lines No one knows that my cheeks are red from how hard I press my tongue against them When I hear that god has a plan And I’m too small to see it Forget that The cells in my lungs don’t fall in love with one another And then wander aimlessly like ghosts When one dies die They know no mourning My blood is not facebook friends with my skin And didn’t cry when my teeth fell out If the building block of life could think My body would be an aetheist compound I don’t think I can hear your voice like it really was anymore replaying our talks Your throat’s full of bees Word ooze thick like honey down lips Ultimately drowned by the humming hive Your face must’ve been wax How else can I explain it melting out of my memories Most days I manage But there are mornings When blank face spouting white noise And fleeting glimpses of bike rides on sunny sundays Isn’t enough to get me out of bed Craving that man to man we never got around to Turned into a clawing on my 18th birthday It’s a miracle I haven’t folded back in half and spewed Steaming confetti fort from this hollow sternum I know I never could That doesn’t do you justice i didn’t write this to yell at you you’re dead so what would be the point in that I did this, to start forgiving you Or god Or the both of you Or myself Or to try and grasp the possibility That we’re all the same thing You, me, god It’s taken five years 2 trips to wilderness 2 rehabs a depleted college fund 2 states 2 countries a lot of tough questions and tougher answers for me to write this I love you dad And I miss you I kept that stupid drawing you gave me it’s hanging on my wall across from my bed most mornings it’s the first thing I see when I wake up gets me moving on the days that motion seems impossible feel free to come visit once in a while [comments] => 2 [counter] => 137 [topic] => 52 [informant] => simonwrite [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => goodbyepoetry )
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