sound is poetry with you

twenty-twenty four hours ago,

i was lamenting my expressed

inability to express. making

you, in my eyes, a victim

who cried. and whose tears

flowed eternal down your

mountain from that fateful eye;

the godliest sight i ever did see

was a flaw in a human relationship;

equivocally eternal,

unquestionably powerful,

neutrally evil, but with the illusion

that possibility is within the realm 

of men, and that forgiveness was

the kindest and ninthmost horrid

sin. 
twenty-twenty four hours ago

i rushed down as fast as i could

to check your temperature. alas,

the thermometer was broken. 

heat and cold, heat and cold,

pressure, pop — silver everywhere,

spilling in the ice water

where the thermometer sat;

silver, the evidence of sin, 

the language of judas and

the color of tears,

the feeling of the prrfect successions

of words; gilded, 

the currecy of the godlike,

shining and crying and

stopping only when we think

of using it up. 

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