I brought all my faces to be developed
as I carried swinging heads attached with string
attached to me

I could have framed all the looks we got
As I walked down the dirt path
between nowhere and noone cares

We hobbled on sores not on my feet
but along the streets of murder routine

I thought about the distance between thighs
and endless soft agression
Like the painless frenzy of a declawed cat

I remember which knife I had used
and the way the air smelled like patience

Farther along down the stretch
We met a man selling children
A face I had lost long ago

I had a head for honesty

You just had this thing for quiet ones

07/18/2007

Posted on 07/18/2007
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