hidden history of broken


under is never,
torture is hidden. my
mind’s a forgiveness;
my heart won’t repent.

he loved you in silence,
yet told you his heart; it
was empty, a park
in baltimore.
i’ve never been there.

a lawn in
some money place…
big shadows in
a dark night, radiates, and i’m
peeking at
the happy family,
it’s always xmas, father and son.

i dream of a summer place,
of scented trees and babies…
happy dreams!
a mossy pond,
a cemetario of ancient friends,
and, there we’ll talk…
the silence off some lazy
pines feeding our vanities, and
you will tell me how you
are not me.

i play a melody,
rachmaninov to your
vast sympathy:
the clean smooth water that’s
my only his touch;
the icy cold of your
careful loathing.



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