Twelve Hour Turn New Rock
ripped rusted nails, from broken wood, built this porch
upon where we stand.i forgot all of the bad times,
i remember long distant phone calls and listening to your
music over the phone.
yet again this outlet feels to fall quite short,
has it lost its aesthetic.
donation based validation.
have we lost our nerve?
this stance falls upon dead ears.
words are drowned out by naps and individually wrapped
snacks/packs,
these hands so dry will crack and bleed,
i will lose my sleep again tonight.
