Friday, July 8, 2011

A Poem From My Brother

I know what you'll say,
How the holes in my shoes make me look,
How forgetful I am,
You see, a hole is a space, something missing,
I sometimes notice houses now,
Old ones embraced by ivy especially,
In the shade of trees,
And I can only imagine what the rings tell, 
What can be divined from their sagacity,
For I think often of the future,
My daydream projections exude comfort at times,
I like to furnish my idealizations modestly,
With second-hand furniture,
Because tables have always felt like being a family, '
And doing vital things together:
Breathing, Eating, Drinking, Laughing,
Means that we have lived,
We have been

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