Sunday, May 8, 2011

Everyday at 9 and 1

When you wipe someone's ass
Because they can't stand up
There's a strange sense of power
Over all the fault and frailty
That's found in man's demise.

And when you watch the winter fade
Into the brown, dead and empty ground,
There's still a parasitic hope
That might be found in broken veins
That shed before the virus came.

So all that comes with spring emerged
Into a life that found its place
Among nature's bright and colorful wings,
But things will change for all of this
Will seem as though we don't exist.

No one makes plans and detailed maps
To bring the wild bird to bear
Its shattered wings and try to fly
From empty tree to empty tree.
We cannot know it longs to fall.

Now twice a day for many years
Some will hear a piercing sound
That makes them hesitate in fear
Of dodging all the flying fists
And looking sickness in the eye.

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