God’s tears like sweet nectar fall

in swollen rivulets down the back of my life.

The words of the day jumbled in

tumbling silence portray what little

is left to say from one with too much to say.

So I do what should be done

at the brink of evening. I draw the shutters

on a well-muscled mouth housing                                                                                                   

too many pointless words and

listen.

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