There are songs that can extract tears from stones,
poems that cause dams to tumble and the water to flood
the surface of my face.
The loneliness of living alone.
I still look for her.
In dreams of my sleep, in faces on the subways and in songs.
I imagine, selfishly,
she would look up and realize who loved her best.
And I would stand granite like, shades over my eyes and pretend she was not there.
All the While inside me,
my soul cries and kicks Like a wild bird caged in my chest,
trying to be let out.
These poems I can't stand,
because they always make me fall.
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