A 32 Poetry Done on A 28: Chapter 7 of 8
There has to be. Why wouldn't there.There would be nine doves all entrapped to where they don't die.
There'd have to be an anchor to all that deserve the flight.
There'd have at the final end a more dried way to call themselves to find life.
There'd have to be one reading this now, and one who doesn't, pays bills for others.
There'd have to be that of a cruel man telling of lies to each other just to go to next.
There will never be just one. There will always have to be walks.
There will be water. There will be a man telling a woman he'd have to leave.
There'd have to be legends that don't die. There'd have to be some that do.
There'd have to be an easel burned with all the brushes, and a comeback that doesn't come.
There'd have to be a sister lost to her assets, and her husband all drenched in warm rain tells her he's done.
There would be walls and taverns and broken glass and mice. They be all nice.
Labels: Bisaya Films, David Foster Wallace, James Salter, Jerome David Salinger, Lydia Davis
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