Our biggest fanHear me read itI pity the sky.Even when all else turns to dust,And debris, and dies,The sky cannot move,Cannot look away,Or do anything but weep ever afterAnd ache to wrap those it lovesIn lonesome clouds and carry them away.Emotional paralysis,I pity the sky.
A BurialThe earth falls. It is my fault. It is my fault. It is my fault. I should not havetold you. And now this, your dying, is myfault. The earth falls. In dying, you havemade it clear. It is my fault. The earthfalls. It was not his doing, but mine.It was my dying, too, that time the earthstopped. You did not want to hear that minewas not the same as his story. It wasmy fault. Alone, at night, in bed, with him,alone, the earth stopped, and with him, I wasstopped also. I could not tell about him.It was my fault. I did not make him stop.I could not tell you. I could not stop it.And now, this is, your dying, is my fault.The earth falls. I leave your grave, and think itmust be my fault. It must be my fault.Your dying is my fault. What your son did is my fault. It is my fault. The earth falls.It was your son. It was my fault. What h
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