March 21, 2011 § 1 Comment

For Maita

I can say that the air is too humid,
this room is too small,
all your papers strewn out across the floor
drive me insane.

But it’s this little mouse space,
this burning white light,
all the fortresses we ever built
out of cassette tapes and toilet paper skeletons,
that tell me
I’m never going to be alone.

And so we listen together, to the world
through the cracks in the walls,
and I know: I will still want to see you

if there is an other side.


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