alternate

the prophecies, these
lovely little links
to the ink
inside our minds,
unravel like the yarn
from that damn ugly sweater
of life, right
before our eyes;
we spit them out
and get emails back,
of the ties
thought broken so
long ago.
our ideas get crushed
and inflated again, just
to begin
in a different light, on
a different night,
in a different town
and a different time.
"right" changes with
each "wrong", pushes
words into the verses
of the songs
that end up looping
in our heads like
a halo, and
lends us sanity til the
next day's dawn.
where did all of these rights
go wrong?

k.