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July 17, 2003

You speak–
all that comes out
is a coffee black
naturalness of reproach
and words that used to be

I hide between the
dust and echoes
where I know that
I am invisible

I think about
breaking your words
like bread
but
the geometric impossibility
of my naivety
allow me to succumb
to your toxic syllables

I eat every letter that
falls from your lips
even though they make
a crown of thorns

No matter how much
I hurt
from the fall
into your verbal snare
I know that behind
the cacophony
is the man I want to bring back