August 9, 2001

Were it the End

Well, it came. Among other things.

victor's spoils

you walk around here like a wounded animal
your false pelt obscuring your eyes
it is not for you your happiness to share
(the wind does not cry for you, the wind does not cry)
curled there
fashioning yourself a suit of sorrow
it does not matter what material you use
you cannot keep out the rain