Thursday, January 26, 2017

My, How The Tables Have Yearned

Have a look back at the breeze you could've used, love.
Bartering always beats waiting.
At least it does in the book I wrote.
Mark your waters, still, and don’t run as deep as you had once hoped.
Watch each dawn shatter, two eyes short of a pair (of pairs).
Work through old puzzles with lost pieces.
And stare.
And stare.
Never was a stronger prison built than the one in which you pretend to live.
(If you can call it living at all.)
Ever soaked, settled next to your wall.
Where you once had the gall to be wanted, you now spend your days wanting the gall.


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