Ice storm poetry

February 1, 2010

I pretend as though we are ancient
An old civilization
Living on what we make
So I make out with anyone
And find my reward
In the heartbeat
That moves all of you
A quake that states
It was worth it

If we’re keeping count
I’m up one more
Somehow the points don’t matter
I’m still losing
I shouldn’t love officials

Breathing hope into lungs
That have been beaten by pollution
Running hands down bodies
That have been fed lies by media
Whispering love into ears
That have only heard of war
Pressing words onto lips
That have been muttering curses
Teaching hands to feel
That have been bound
Setting free those hearts
That have been caged forever

You’re like the dishwater my mother soaked pans in
Too dark and sloppy
Wishy washy
Barely cleaning anything
But worth it because it’s the only option
Unavailable for any clarification
So that when the drain is clear you’re surprised it’s over
Spinning any forever full of unexperienced feelings

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