the fans are on, blowing hot air out of the room
our eyes are dusty
I throw the coins, the I-ching says "Peace"
heaven below earth
it would be good if you were still here
then I could talk to you again
and calm you down
I wrote about being trapped in cages
but you were already buried
beneath a thousand tons of earth
they were all screaming at you
all the time, the voices
and I climbed a tree in the backyard that once
we were drunk, and we watched a sad movie
©2006 Andrew French
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