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Whimper

I suspect I want to let go,
Because I’ve seen slow years
Since I last felt permitted.
But it can’t be a comfort
While I’m straining my neck
To validate the bareness
Of windows and thresholds.
I see murky pictures
Implying that I was free.
But it seems like I would know.
I must have read it in something
Or wished it into a dream.

Comments

Rax said…
i hear the sounds of inner whimpers: uncertainty pulling the mind apart, to be neither here nor there, but constantly turning head left and right at an emptiness that is almost unbelievable, or is it?

masterful write. short but not lacking.

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There's another part, always,
that doesn't want to go,
a shape more practiced
than my humble sincerities,
my tilted resolutions.

I forget to relax my knees,
That I should soften my jaw,
take lessons from the glass,
from the sidelong blurs,
and oblong silhouettes;

take in the everyday words
That clatter around my body.
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