Some days I can
Those sepia-stained
Like looking through
Aged glass,
Long-slumped, distorting
Light and shadow
In a seductive
Interplay –
And tears pooling
In corners of
Mind’s-eye, turned
Within, stirring
Sometimes I emerge,
Riding ripples
Of new strength
Like riptides
Carrying this tired
To familiar shore;
Sometimes I drown
In inky pools
Of dread,
Pressed down by
The words and retorts
Endlessly churning,
Undulating and decomposing,
Compressed between
The weight of today
And the shadow of
I’d scream if
I thought it
Would matter,
If it would cause
You to turn this
Direction –
To return and rearrange
Those unspoken words
Strewn along the
Between us,
Like laundry someone
Forgot to bring in
Before sunbaked and
Faded, falling
Crisp as sprigs of
Fresh mint
To the bottom of
Your glass –
I’d cry, or laugh,
Or beg, or demand,
Or stand mute,
If by so doing,
That sepia-stained
Memory of what I
Hoped to hold onto,
Might fall out of
And restore us
To that timeline
Lost to the void;
Where once possibility
Diverted by
Corruption and lies,
Told by the pain
Borne by another –
Stripped me bare and
Tossed heartily to the
Street running between
Our returns home,
With torn sidewalks and
Angry traffic
Ever pressing me aside.
These Black-Days
I scream into that
Cavern of creation
Between existences
And demand what was
Black-Days fade into
Black-Nights and I
Sink verdant roots into
Thirsty earth and
Release this mess
Of human bargaining.
I’ll revisit this
Pain tomorrow.



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