Thursday

Let's call this the quiet city:
Where screams are flet as a wave of stoplights
Drive through the the streets as gunshots punctuate the night
The sides we take divide us from our faith
And the morning dove gets caught in the telephone wire
Asleep you set the fire in your own house
And the night was a knife that cut
And I'm paralyzed
Cross out the eyes
Blur all the lines
Tearing this canvas from the wall
We crossed out the eyes
Put lines through these cries
We pulled all the leaves from the trees that fall
A silent dance that we did into this hospital bed
Hear voices from another room
"It happens all the time"
But July in the sand