Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Workin on it.

Deseret Towers.
an illusion of time.
the first floor ripped out while the stories above hang still in the sky.
were they not depending on their foundation?
The sixth floor and me, we remain somehow.
She replies with
a collage of broken windows against our empty field
a chain length fence around a passing vacant breeze.
the echo of a closed door,
the ghost of a laugh...
the shock of the coming day.

i no longer need you to define who i am.

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