dead saints
john sweet
line up the fingers all of the
dead saints and I'm still no
closer to understanding where
the dats lead us if anywhere
at all and I've stopped
answering the phone and keep
the lights off at night so
there's nothing to see when you
drive by the trunk of your car
filled with the souls of silent
martyrs your eyes filled with
visions of the two of us and
the bones of the days we've
already picked clean stacked
neatly in the back of your
mind
