Still

Grappling the ropes I rise

heavy with knowing

intimacy cannot be

imitated

usually proves useless

grappling I rise

another time

after a decade of acquaintance

refuse to understand

after a decade of acquaintance

that

perhaps

wisdom

is to

lie

through

the

final

count.

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procrastination

I’ve lost the poem

that was in my head,

a black squirrel

leaps onto the table

and looks me

right in the eye.