Sunday, June 16, 2013

that all the clay of you might yield to the fire of you

the prickly itch of shaved skin, the hot buzz of the clippers burning your ear. 

the point at which the laundry stops coming out clean.  

the cat won't eat. every day she lightens in your lap.

the same list stares back. every day the same danced to-do. 

realizing that the voice in the void was your own echo.

forget forget forget forget forget forget

pack up the car and go. the waiting isn't working.


listening to:  noel'le longhaul - spoon river

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