I Wonder If You Always Tell The Truth

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I Closed My Eyes

You always did try to replace

the words of the dead like autumn

leaves on summer’s corpse.

And when they wouldn’t suit,

or thundered when you wished

a whisper, then you poked

the iris of imagination with

a finger of familiarity.


To counteract this cataract

of watered-down words,

I bathed in the stream of air

you rejected in favour of wind;

When all I could do to surmount

this escarpment was fall through

the blind-sighted fissures of night-

stained earth, I closed my eyes

and walked in the dark.