Saturday, September 25, 2010


Self-referential scrawl

Their faces haunt me,
The imagined people.
Like ghosts
Of what never was.
Dreams never realized
They stare
With eyes full
Of nothing more subversive
Than empty hope.
I cannot make them real.
For all
That I might wish,
The imperative of their songs
The potential of their narratives
Are something separate
Well removed
And far beyond
My power to set free.

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