||[Jan. 31st, 2008|05:02 pm]
I don't know where you were going|
or where you might have ever been
But this is the desert in winter
and you've got your head buried in the snow.
Your nose was red, your skin was black, your stomach was gray.
It hurt me too, to leave you there, so afraid,
all the cars' horns honking.
Hold it just above the ground, (a wrist rocket? with the heel of the foot?)
I hope it's one-million, one-million, one-million swords sharpened and
shining in the light of 1,000,000 suns, all pointed right at your heart, and
once pierced, may it explode back (&forth) tenfold.