Saturday, December 15, 2012


A line in the sand that bears your footprint.

A fork in the road that's two ways to wrong.

A framed photo of an absent guest.

Speech-notes that never leave your pocket.

A drowning swimmer in a dried up sea.

A ghosting fox in a forest of rustling thoughts.

Sheets still tangled in last night's sleep

The seep of water between slippery fingers.

The stuck hands of a stopped clock.

The monster wearing in your worn reflection.

The hand that leads down tree-lit streets when the night aches too brightly to put on companied stillness.

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