Broken pieces
I don’t have to keep them
To sweep them off in circles
Display them around in my living room
To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left
A barnacle shell and a half used film
Marrow of bone and a picture I drew that I gave to no one
There was no one I knew to give it to
The dark arts of preservation
The mottled collection of displacement
To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left
You know, you remind me of a boy I once knеw?
Days comes and it all feels so different, it’s likе dust in my hair
Day comes and I walk outside and back, so dissatisfied
Day comes and it’s all so clear to me – it’s so dear to me
When day comes – that I will be standing here mending all of it
The dark arts of preservation
The mottled collection of displacement
To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left
You know, you remind me of a boy I once knew?
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