Monday, July 20, 2015


All of those things both worthy to dread and
not, the history of liaisons and destiny, the
storied markers of people who passed  -  make
me nothing but confused. My own ways are
less winning, and my father spoke a foreign 
tongue with a mouthful of tacks. I was forced
to listen. It doesn't frighten me that I expect 
people to die : suicide and subdivision, all the
same to me. Live like a pirate and die like a 
bum. Oh just run it on over the roaring sea.
Once there were men in the wine-dark sea.
They cried for each other; they cried for me.

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