words by dominic riccitello

and i never quite felt at peace
with you in my mind
running in directions
in a quietness which didn’t exist
and i told you
seven times too many
learning lessons
we lean on shoulders of desolation
a tragedy in the mind of many
hatred folds and lies unfold
your heart exposed what his eyes withheld
could you hate the man of your mountains
dance with the devil of whom he’s surrounding
he’s haunted, he’s crying
tears upon the shadows of a handsome face
a man in a glass house
turning to a beat in a tune without sense
we dance in past tense
twirled in the face of hell
between hotel rooms and hotel paper
a memoir could only exist
if our words could amend
two men made sense
yet one of them fell