the shape of your breasts, like crescents

[image: matt good]

and life trundles forward
in a non-chalant fashion
a comatose doppleganger amidst the faceless crowds
you know, the stereotypical cinematic scene
of the rushing blurring city people
and you
standing there, unmoving unchanging...
i think of her thinking of me
a peace maker in bed
and I find more and more reasons
to burn scraps of paper
a sort of homage to a more comfortable existence.
Sitting alone on your bed today,
I became a harbinger of destruction.