and he hits you
then brings you flowers
or he just hits you

it’s not a story anymore
it’s a religion
and i choose not to believe

the earth will be consumed
but not in my lifetime

the days will pass too quickly
and the reasons for leaving
will fade
and it’s always someone

a friend
an old lover
or a sister-in-law
and just beyond the brutality
are the sounds of children
playing in the street

the approaching scream of sirens
after a man i’ve never met
finds the brakes too late

and we call this autumn
and the sky is a brilliant blue
and without warmth

the sun is old beyond years
and we have begun
hearing rumors of its death

i have found myself standing
by my son’s bed in
a whiteknuckle rage as
his temperature hangs at 104

the list of people
i would strike dead so that
he might be spared this
is endless

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