.
.
.
Yes hope can leave our theater
Pretty short of breath
Where doubt-facing ghosts
In our neck-deep dreams
Play a bored game of zeros
And crosses
On the back of ancient stars
But all in such air
Made for our music
And time
Made for these arrests.
.
.
(c) D. Allison 2006. All Rights reserved.
www.myspace.com/dotallison
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