Tuesday, February 10, 2015

6345. FARCICAL ME

FARCICAL ME
Blue serge suit, I lost my youth, dead on the
shoreline where the awkward gulls gawk. Fog
on the water, dense like a ship, heavy with heave
yet afloat - fading away in the mist, and no one
says another word. The silence, never fleeting
before, now sticks like glue to every crevice.
I'm pleasant enough to laugh at everything.
'You're almost smiling again,' someone
once had said to me. Almost, to
smile again.

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