Sunday, August 21, 2016


There are things I've put away; 
the fissure at the canyon, the
sort of old photos shown at 
parties, the old tea-cups an
uncle and aunt once used.
There's not much sense in
just going on. Mirrors never
lie  -  though they do lie 
in wait for some. Like 
the half-moon carved
into a vanity table.
 I digress. Frankly, I
came here to kill myself.
Take all the coin out with
gunshot, run blaring into
traffic, jump thirty stories
from the Cantwell Tower.
So now it is, now, you have
to try distracting me with
incidentals : the witch who
grew too big, the story of
the pedals and the dwarf.
No, I will not read to you.

No comments: