I was cold,
she wrapped me in decisive
garments, a cloak,
a facade to bury the real.
I wanted more
with a condition,
the sale of my wares
would need recognition.
I said come in,
sit anywhere you like,
a sea of welcome anxiety
might be silhouetting the door.
I had nothing,
blank walls in vacant
stairs leading me
toward the ocean’s hell.
I wonder tonight
if fatigue with alarm
is the motivator
my shrink would suggest.
I have eyes,
several different sets of I’s
all of which
hold the key to my norm.
This is my favorite piece I’ve read of yours Thom. That I’ve read so far.
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thanks Mark, playing with a different style here – I appreciate the feedback.
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