Sunday, October 31, 2010

a freeman’s son bleeds
did you love my dead child?
blood whets shifting dunes

So alone, I lie here
my fingers grasp only sand
my mouth is so dry

a glass of water
is there anyone to hear?
death comes, so thirsty…

does anyone hear?
my heart, it no longer beats
does anyone care?

p. thibodeau-baker

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