Friday, April 30, 2010


Pity pours forth in permutations,
A grand gallery of shape and smell.
In the broken circle of humanity,
In the blue teardrop
And the ashen aroma of loss
Pity will find its purchase
And will stand against reason.

Pity has its powers and charms,
A rough alchemy of persuasions,
Kinetic tongues of honey
That relish pandemonium
And the white-hot charge of self-regard.
Pity will find its purchase
And stand against reason.

I want and need your pity now
To reach the meager creature within
With kisses like sweet bruises
That can make worthy again
For all your pity helps me to become.

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