A pre-election night’s dream

thoughts muzzled
sighs spitting scorn
worlds muffled.

and you hold your breath
in anticipation
of a familiar face,
and you moan
and you ache
and you cry
your soul to sleep
while gazing
in their empty words
floating in the heavy air,
fists raised, a hollow flutter.

muzzled, muffled
you pray
your body to be laid
in a holly ground.

If only there were
waters pure enough
to wash away
the stain
where you once stood.

August, 2012

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