None Too Revered
I had a
dream of shirt threads
fraying, living like a hologram
version of broken hearts.
Living like
the swinging edge of
fire escapes in new dawn light
where I might find you for solace,
As I stare
through book pages,
wish I had a five-acre farm and
something to do besides
A
worthless, non-melody hum of
widgets and frazzled minds,
poison ivy itch in summer
And
brackish cold to bone
past November’s cruelties.
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