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The Importance of Hands
for Jason Austin Johnson

Upon looking at his dead body
I was compelled to kiss his dead lips
and I instinctively put my hand on
his hand
And I was shocked
Not by the deadness of his lips,
for his lips were always dead,
But of his hands.
I took time to notice
The scar
On his knuckle
From when I slammed
His hand
In my car door.
He told me then
He'd rather be dead
Than have no hands.
And now, he was dead
With hands.
I wanted to cut off
his hands
To justify his death
And take them home with me
and keep them under my pillow
So that I could keep up with
the stage of decay

I ache for
his hands
The hands that created me
The hands that molded my reality
The hands that shook as they pulled my hair
The hands that moved over the piano to make me cry
The hands that wiped those tears away
The hands that I held as I slept
The hands that rested casually on my knee
The hands that knew me better than I know myself
The hands that flurried with excitement
The hands that lit my cigarettes
The hands that pumped my heart
The hands that pulled the trigger.

But The hands are dead and buried.
And I'll cut these memories off
and take them home with me
and keep them under my pillow
So that I can keep up with
The stage of decay.

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