Poetry

Not going to win any Pulitzers but better to share these than to have them hidden away...

 

Prose just doesn't know the right words

to unfurl red carpets and the long lines of people, places, thoughts

the moments of untouched joy

sifting through the pain of pleasures

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I am tired and I want to sleep

I want to beat any drum its loudest

beat my heart its strongest

I want to be an unmade man

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Dressed warmly for this winter

in layer upon layer

of living, breathing

networks of denial.

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I can see them

still

swimming

thick

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