Wednesday, November 18, 2015

from p.1 on Mon., Nov. 16th

A chain and shackle
lock me in place.
The phone rings,
mimicking a thousand
small bees in a bag.

The paycheck holds me 
here. And over my
counter, 

a rusty and dilapidated form asks
for directions.


-----


The blistering rage
could only be calmed by the smooth
glaze of the donut.

It's blueberry dots like a 
cloud on a hot day.

I understand, though.

We haev both snapped,
but in different ways.

All we want is to be left alone.


-----


Watching all
from teh sky they fall
falling
falling
down around my seat.

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