Friday, July 18, 2014

Standing Beside Myself

What is left behind,
a scrap of our past, twenty
years reduced to this,
splashes from the glass
that falls to the ground between
my splayed feet planted
below your window -
and you but a dangling twist
of cloth above me.

I must go, I guess.

It does me no good holding
court outside your house.

September 19, 2010 12:41 PM

1 comment:

The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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