Monday, 10 August 2009

There is no mathematics to love and loss

There is algebra in gasoline.
Burning pictures, pages and photographs.
Fire can make a conscience clean.
(Strike the match, we'll see)
Rolls the window down, calls his name and pulls away.
Rethinks every word he's said in disarray.
Watched their house burn and in turn.
(What made it home, drive away)

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