Friday, June 7, 2013

Tragic Divide

We are clearly out of the frame, this Sunday
Scissors cutting me out from within a shape
Rolled into the palms of your hands.... 
  
Leaving my tie where it never hung
Leaving my shoes unshinned 
And my suitcase marked...

Having no place to be where I'm needed.
There is a room that awaits you
Expects your arrival but do you really belong there?

When does the emptiness agree?  
Or the heart of passion argue?

Is this a full time career...?

We are clearly out of the frame, this Sunday
Scissors cutting me out from within a shape
Rolled into the palms of your hands.... 
  
Leaving my tie where it never hung... 

And our art just a peace of mind

Who will endure?

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