Saturday, December 5, 2009

640. TO MY LIFE

TO MY LIFE
Your healing allowed me to prosper,
to cling to something, to stay and
subside. Taking potshots at
imagined enemies was never all
it was cracked up to be anyway -
shooting galleries filled with
crack addicts of the imagination.
Intensities. Forlorn distractions.
Crumbled sandhouses where
only failed monks dwelt.
-
I held in my hands the most
hollow of cards. Laced with a
similacritude of fiery tension,
this varied Ark of my covenant
meant nothing in any other language.
I couldn't speak anyway.
I'd gotten nothing done.

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