Broken things

in my wonder I can weigh the loss that we all suffered
felt in headaches from the knowing heroes lives uncovered
to be seen as they had always been
nothing but a boring shade of blue
from the knowing that I'll never sing in tune
like the rest of you
like the truth that beautiful
could be wealthy spelt another way
said to us in words that linger
words that swear we'll make it through the day

let die our spoiled architect boroughs
let die our finger-printed window sorrows
let us address our wakes by name
say "I'd have the strength to face you, day,
if not for all the broken things in my life."

I found the need to stay alive,
reason enough to pay to mind
that all of this could mean the world
or be such a fucking waste of time