no man who loves his life wants war.
2005-07-05 2:01 p.m.
sometimes, i am catching myself at the looks of one of your friends, some little torment to remind me how close you are to being young and thoughtlessbut we are both children
to each action, place a repercussion, this is growing up in season, to realize the qualities of our responses, the detrimental effect we carry, the salvation we have wrought
and i tell him i am atlas. i tell him my legs are failing.
we are not what we have been.
.
let me be
good again
and easy going
let me
extend
my poor spine
crooked from mistaken identities
.
trust becomes the issue, a stretching out of skins, to give our selves new purposes, so tell me
in the last month, where you're been, when reaching failed as a becoming option, and your fair skin gained summer
leaving my senses vanquished.
.
i have written
long love letters
and left them for dead.
hiding in the pages of my notebooks
.
i have
covered my shameful head
uncovered my fearful neck
laying myself down for execution.
.
this is guilt, a shove in sequence, a bridge we've tired of crossing, a use of common conjunctions, to represent enclosure, enmesh
but keep some distance.
.
we will bend, this time, and stagger our steps, hopeful
for changes made to enact themselves, for old patterns to be forgotten, for
our defenses to be cleared.
.
no man who loves his life wants war.
.
sometimes, i am catching myself at the looks of one of your friends, some little torment to remind me how close you are to being young and thoughtless
but we are both children
and we begin again.
we begin again.
thankful for our chances.