Friday 6/09/2006 11:28:00 PM

The summer in its softest gown wears no shoes. The night swallows its own sigh and touches her toes. They spill like apples from baskets too full. It's not the red skin I notice. It's the juice.

Shouldn't this shame take away my knees again. Force me to stand when crawling is the only thing I can fathom.

Talking to the chalkboard as if it can find my words in the dust that's left. I've never even held an eraser in my hand, but somehow still, it all vanishes.

It's not as hot as it should be, but it's warm enough. Nothing really happens as it should anymore. Especially the weather.

Her white dress so wrinkled from constantly bending over to validate what we've lost.

It can't be shame when the moon is this bright. Peering through my window. White giant cyclops cursed with such tiny hands. Seeing everything there is to see in all this everywhere, but unable to hold anything except the smallest pieces.

It feels like shame, but I think it's acceptance.

To their bushes they go. And are counted. Feather by feather. Until I am convinced that flight is a curse. And I've always been falling.

Even when I was sure I was high enough to see everything.

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