but I've got good news.
Make a wish:
twenty-five years later
I promise you a
red-draped room and
the correct words
for these sub-titles.
Filled with secrets
the shadow of a bird
passes above.
Sometimes
my arms bend back
and I feel like I know
something terrible.
Where we're from
a pretty song is
almost exactly like
sympathetic pain.
Dance around the table,
strange,
as oddly stilted
as your speech.
This dream is on your mouth.
You know who killed it now.
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