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October 14, 2009
tags: ,

Painful nostalgia rips at my chest

     as I yearn

to return

to the lessons then learned

and my body is awash with the

tips of a m i  l   l    i     o      n      horse hairs. These

are the times I hate to love,

                               to have loved,

                               to know I’ll love


each horse hair

                              another crack in a shattering heart.

  Today is good, but

yesterday was perfect, and tomorrow

I’ll say the same. Like cockroaches

b!inded by sudden illumination,

my memories scurry away and hide

under refrigerators of doubt and years of dust

          and dread.

No,     not roaches,     but

flowers, petals in the breeze, caught

up and sent

floating off into a distant meadow –

                                            that’s a better picture, though

the cockroaches are




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