changes swirl
in my teacup
dripping blood
from my father's broken heart
yet i cannot part
with
the glassy sunshine
and tepid rain
the little joys
without a name
i so so wish that
i could shred
this sea of red
in which
storms swirl
(in a teacup)
but the sweet and sour
ketchup drips
from my torn and breaking heart
9/3/2007
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