Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Bury Your Dead

The snow that fell full from the hidden moon last night lays like paper
waiting for a pen on the deck we painted red last summer,
before your brother died.

And by that I mean, snow melts, blood clots, bodies blow in the wind.

And by that I mean, we breathe with the dead when we forget to melt with the snow.

And by that I mean, you can’t put winter in the freezer.

And by that I mean, seriously, take your aspirin.

And by that I mean, bury your dead.

And by that I mean,

everything.




R.

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