My Next Suicide

towards the dusty left
end of a basement city
the rain washes nothing
leaving sin in streaks on the street

i can hear it
the cracked dry giggle
of a grave i cannot avoid
save for nightly smokescreens
it turns on a white ribbon smile
oh yes
oh yes
it will wait
one more day
maybe two
knowing i understand very little
except for loose stitches
and slowing rotting anger
though i try

merciful merciless G*D
i don't ask for the end of war
for the sick to be healed
or sunny saturdays in april
just a nod and a handshake
so i can understand something
about something

i throw my hands wide like pigeons
to let the rain drown me
in cold calculated rythym
when finally it fades
and what remains
is what i have been gifted


by alexandre arnau

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