i cried a tale
a feverish tale

of demons on tables and babies in glasses

of faces on floors
and portraits of lovers etched on doors

of gap-toothed beggars with golden teeth

of priests bending over with no god to please

i sang and sang
of bodiless faces

faces that went to faraway places
(i lost five tears to a man with four faces)

i sang and sang
of a princess with no womb
who ran to a juliet
buried deep in a tomb

i wish to sow back the seams of the days that have come undone

and today as we passed by
the little stone steps to our house
(it's no longer a home - just a pitiful dome)
and all the little turns
we had to make just to get there
i realized all of them were left
and i remember thinking quickly
as the turns passed us by
is this why we always fight
because we are always left
and never right
(n.n.)