|THE SHAPE OF PAIN
It didn't matter what the landscape said
Chasms or orchards or barbed wire buildings
It could be Christmas or Malcolm X's birthday.
It could be subtle like the Rose Bowl Parade
Or the skills of a drunken cartographer.
But the landscape was Texas with its bloodless moon
The landscape was Texas with its floodlights booming
The landscape was Texas, with its fire pits brimming
And the equation simple:
One is always the beloved
The second, only the lover.
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