Jan
16
The wall that ran through my heaven…
(an original)
And I thought I could make my own little heaven
Where the “They” and “We” aren’t in defeat
And where strawb’rries and strangers grow sweet.
But the wall’s genetic; always there; who can change?
Even in your touch it was cement, cement…
Even in my heaven, people slid to their side
As they danced to their learned and tragic divide.
And so I sing, “If I can’t build it, then I’ll just write it.”
On the stalls of bathrooms, sharpies are Eternal.
© 2010 Constantine Kulakov
