Tuesday, April 10, 2012

When inevitable shades of dust and silt
coat and shroud the windowed gaze
to pierce the greenest youth with guilt
sigh, shall I, a knowing phrase
For flowers, mine in open spaces
too have crushed beneath the weight
of ghost-like lists of names and places
built with masks that mimic hate
finger's touch cannot confront them
nor the bravest searching eye
they don't exist in physical quantum
but dwell instead in my own mind

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