Posted by oscar on 1/1/2007, 8:09 am a guilty conscience is hammered down a man feels nothing a dozen red roses are unopened a realization that it’s not supposed to make sense
65.167.39.251
a confession booth with no dial tone
& what might be a bullet hole
is no place for a desperate man
through the breast plate
& only forgiveness can pry it out
until she runs her finger over his wet cheek
& it spells love
while the blood on a shirt
throws a heart-shaped stain on the wall
that’s the beauty of it
so there’s no need to blame anyone
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