let's sing the blues
just me and you, while a dying man
plays guitar.
And it sounds -
so sweet, like the worst defeat
you could suffer and still remain who you are
or a little bit worse than that, in fact -
you admit, as you take just a few things back
- you work the loss into your voice, in the words
and you raise it all up, throat tight,
then slack
we are sweet and slurred
and we sing 'til our throats
fill up with ache, as plaintive as the world
we can hear it turn on its axis of prayers
every heart bled out now, too much to care
it's too much to take
except yours and mine.
This is punishment now, which is fine
by us. We have so much rope
we have given ourselves
such a beautiful song, here
beyond all hope.
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