Monday, ‎March ‎17, ‎2014

So he asked what’s the time, how little it’s left
Not much for his irony walk, to slow bent
Naked shoulder back of his, in burned suit
In rush in grief home fire burning, catching up too
Gazed more dark more drear distanced from light
Resting in the swamp, intruders from he, separates
Too much debt to pay and paid, tragedy replicated
Stand as he will tall but do not measure in lengths
It’s the gap or the wall he has to put self made
Far as you will be from what you love, you do not lose, understood
Or the body of his shall not be bruised or his only suit!

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