365–To Hear the Angels Sing

here it is the last song of this
particular choir i pass the places
that were strange when i started
to run before my shoes wore out
and the dust settled i am here now
not there, this place belongs to
all of us and none i guess possession
has to do with demons not poetry
or places to you i give my last letter
and my first they were never mine
this line is filled with drying clothes
my mind empty of thoughts i listen
as quiet as a christmas mouse to
hear the angels sing
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