2005-04-10 - 3:29 a.m.
The shape of words, the magnetic heart
the time it takes to pry apart.
The listening edge
the beat of triumph
the way is was when we all felt like giants.
Stardust remains to bury the dead
cover the antics inside our heads
and what further recourse
is abominable
to the sour and stated
to the treasures sedated, yet elated
on last remark falls
and crimson asphalt
the blood of lovers counteracting
every promise you thought you once
managed to make
but you could only take and take and take
until the plate was silent
and cold
and begging.
