The Sentence Was Red

The color of trailing sentences—

In my head, on concrete, wet

From rain—are red…

 

Red are the hearts

We hold, in the sentences

We mold, with blinking

Cursors, bleeding pens,

And, sometimes, just

The fingers in our hands…

 

Red the sentences that

Run long, the ends all

Lost…

 

Lost

Down every drain

They trail across…

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