Saturday 1/26/2008 11:26:00 PM

He handed me a memory in a plain foil packet. I would've thought that he'd have dated it. The only jurors in our eyes. The only criminals in our skin. I said I couldn't keep it. That I'm not much for hanging onto things. He gave it to me anyway.

Trust has nothing to do with honesty.

It must've mattered then even if it doesn't now. Strange how it fools us that way. Finding the words to tell it as they suit our purpose. To find others either guilty or innocent. Depending on our motives.

I don't want anything. I don't want anyone. It's the only thing logical choice when I consider the evidence.

I can't see the arm, but I know it's broken. Splinters of bone falling like confetti. I can survive January, but February is a challenge. The cold knows we're weakest when it's about to end.

The wisdom of winter is that it never let's us remember how close we were to dying.

We love who we do and deal with the consequence afterwards.

2 comments:
Kris said...

i love your poems...and especially this one :)

ap said...

that's wonderful.

might i ask why this one in particular?



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