Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Strangers Don't Mourn by Emily Mayer

Should I call you sir?


You, soldier
of bleeding skull
fractured moments on my computer
my two front steps
the street where I played hide and seek

There is a war
ripping through Oakland
bleeding cannonball tongues onto my lap
I watch you collapse, almost like cloud
slow motion soft
upon pavement riddled with my fingerprints

It's almost
as if
we were touching.

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