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FAILURE LYRIC

KRISTINA MARIE DARLING

BLAZEVOX[BOOKS]
Buffalo, New York

Failure Lyric by Kristina Marie Darling


Copyright 2014
Published by BlazeVOX [books]
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without
the publishers written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.
Printed in the United States of America
Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza
Cover image: "Back to Back" by Noah Saterstrom, 12" x 18", mixed media on paper, 2014
First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-60964-193-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014949804
BlazeVOX [books]
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217
Editor@blazevox.org

publisher of weird little books

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The

story cant begin.


An abstraction like
human happiness or

Hamlets vengeance.

You cant fight for the dead, only


sleep.

No way to begin a story.

I intended

the blood rushing,


the Mahler left open.

Even now, you cant

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[FAILURE LYRIC]

[MINOR FAILURES]
When you explained why you were setting the table, I kept mishearing things.
I mistook guest for ghost, and before that, Mahler for failure. For awhile, I just stood there,
trying to think of something polite to say to you.
You told me, quietly, how I would never understand. That I was only a woman who wanted
to be a wife. On the table, champagne flutes sparkled. The silver forks shimmered in pairs.
That was when I cleared away the dishes. I opened my mouth to speak

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[BOSTON]
The first night I was iced out of the city.
Beneath the window, a dead bird covered in snow. You said you had been waiting in the
hotel lobby, with your red silk tie, those drinks in tiny cups. At my feet, shattered glass.
The finch's broken neck. I just sat there, counting the dirty feathers, its cracked bones. The
dead bird said nothing.
Still, I couldn't stop looking. Even in the dark, it felt like staring into a mirror.

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[MIRROR]
My sister looked at me and said, You choose the love you think you deserve. She poured
another cup of herbal tea. Out the window, I see birds burying their dead.

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[BOSTON]
On the second night, the city still wouldn't have me.
I find myself turning away from photographs. Like that shot of you in a black wool suit.
The people who come close to shake your hand. And a sky that looks even colder than the
weather.
I won't stop pleading with the city. When the lights go out, I try again. And again.
All those prayers wasted on a sheet of ice.

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[PRAYER]
That you'll appear before me.
Like a white horse galloping through the eye of a needle.

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[BOSTON]
On the third night, they started leaving the city.
That was when I first arrived. A woman at the hotel desk said you'd made a reservation. So
I took an elevator to the eighteenth floor. I found frost on every mirror, the locks on the
doors sealed shut from the cold.
People kept leaving the city, taking their coats and wallets with them.
All I could do was wait. When the ice thawed, I realized you were already gone.

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