Sunday, December 9, 2012

Post One Hundred and Ninety Three: The Weather.

I have crucified you. I have stabbed you and hung you above the city for your action and belief. Instead of a tomb I have laid you out for the birds to make meaning from your insides.  

The first topic to come to tongue, you are the weather.
Swept through.
Your signature sweating with hurt. Heavy and hot.

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