Friday, January 27, 2012


By Adam Gibson ©

you moved from this coast to another
just like changing shirts

and you could break the back of
any single thing that
might make the
most innocent mistake of
deciding to love you

you, my shell-breaker pliers
you, my salt-mouthed gypsy
who finds no solace
in the lines of any palm

our battlelines are shown
in their secret betrayal
on the arches of our foreheads

we've been spending so much money
the dollars are pouring out
like grain from broken silo

and we have hardly
anything left to give

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