November 11, 2009

It's
too dark
not
to be
seen
 ::
when
your pain
is
singing
blind






Whisper
   everything
differently
  —
hear your
  own
language
  lost






As much as
November
litters the bed,
won't healed
wounds die
in the end






There's no one addressed
to this old house:
just some dust
shaken
down:
flux