Monday, April 27, 2009

poem a day - bloodletting miracles

and he remembers
the way it throbbed out
thick pulsing strides,
like a horrible beat,
men from the streets crying out
for their mothers,
fathers, saviours,
oh lovers have never lasted
more than an hour
in this town,
and it killed him
how no one cared
for the broken men.

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