"Keep my name out of your mouth,"
from a riled, silent bird
still ringing seven later.
It's no wonder some hearts
keep strict bankers' hours.
Peeling pipe cement
from my hairy, mangled arm
doesn't take the mouth
of the boy who's found a gun
under the pillow of his love--
I wipe, see blood;
Again, with hopes crushed
by the crimson in the hazel:
Some things are as
they should be.
It's like trying to describe
colors to the blind.
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