Tuesday, February 23, 2010

an imagined cleansing

I thought growing up meant a sort of cleansing
no more clinging to the bones of our ancestors
more cleansing
we can break an entry into heaven
more cleansing
we can let ideas fall, rise like tides, and crash against walls
more cleansing
we can speak of history’s eternal flame that challenged man
more cleansing
but, today it is raining
and no one is dancing.

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