We argue. Lacerate felt-lined hats. Using
The pieces to proof each other so wrong
Or right, or this or another, and who may fill
The streets towards East any better just for
A lousy benefit of a planned brother.
All history is to fulfil itself, though. Right
Or wrong, here and now, and not even alike,
We constantly give away what is ours keeping
The sorrow alive. The insights do belong
To you keeping us company, while what's
Acquired is just as useful to us as a present
Even if we're never naked or hurt or devasted
For you, though, you impress where I will express,
We handle a certain truth between us, for there is
Not one way, and never right and left without centre.
© 2009