You know how difficult
it can be to excavate
what is hiding in your
heart, your brain.
The real man or woman
resides in a house of
silence, a box nailed
tight with metaphor.
My heart accuses me
for what I understand;
my mind, already walking
down the road to home.
And there are so many
people I broke in half
for love or emptiness;
I can no longer find them.
So in my graceful sleep
I pray for rain, the kind
of rain that weeps for days,
a cleansing rain.
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