Monday, March 28, 2011

I speak into the air

and whoever hears--hears--

my tribe disappears

one person at a time

in every obituary column

in whatever newspapers still exist--

and only their families and friends


until they follow after

and are remembered in ever diminishing minds--

oh--perhaps like-minded souls are being born--

maybe they're do what we failed to do-

(maybe some who passed before among them--reborn--)

but for now--this place and this place--

done is done and I speak no more

about this--

Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.

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