The city burns tonight and we peeking under bandages. We shook the bottle. “ Twist the lid.” I hold my breath and drive, because I don’t think I can handle it. We talk so big then act like kids. Tell me there’s a me on the other side of this.
Deep inside my lungs there is dust from stale and bitter bouts. When I cough sometimes it rushes out. Beneath the scattered lights they’re getting high on gas grenades. We commentate because we’re safe.
I’ve never known shame to feed the hungry or love the shunned. I’ve been trying hard not to be a man, but a father and a son. I felt the waves on the river shore – one swollen earthen vein. The southern wind – I head it calling me. So I whispered back: “Not today.”
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