Ibid

night swallows night under the singing catacombs of unwashed sheets and passing trucks. there never is a short conversation with the lonely who tell there tales of how they have everything except someone to love them. there is a message in shoelaces,those that are always untied or how doors are louder when they are closed. they tell me others died so I could live,but I see the open window and the line behind it waiting for exodus. I fight for a spot underneath the belly of parked cars..... as morning approaches my mouth explodes with a truth that is too heavy to carry.