4/15/15

from around this time last year

IF I SLEEP ONE THOUSAND YEARS, WHEN I WAKE THE DOG WILL STILL BE DEAD IN MY TRUNK

It's like we're talking from opposite banks of a river
the sounds carried across the water
from my phone to yours
praying for some water under our bridge for so long
I can't hear you so good from over here
forgot that part maybe
that everything sounds sad when it's ringing

one thousand words for beautiful and I want to know them all. 
and none of them too,
it's all I think anyway
when I look at the green
after the sun has gone and before the stars have come
without Florida bleaching herself vulgar
and again I feel simple
when I mention the song of the cicadas and the wind through the palms
hush hush hush
distant thunder
sweet sweet sweet
come the sounds of summer

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