Day 1256

…did you call this dream

home

or do you still think the music is yours

I kissed her wax paper cheeks

and she tried so hard to smile

Has she been a gone a year

Or seven

Was she here at all

What is it you’re afraid of

To be forgotten or to be remembered

What if you’re remembered

For exactly what you did?

Though she no longer dances she once

loved Camus and now he hangs

in some forgotten corner

the handrails unglued and that fear of

falling still looming

I’ve been up too late

reading Rimbaud in the dark and wondering

what it would be like

to write without pause

but there I go again

Amazing isn’t it

What a little oxygen can do for the complexion…

 

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