Sunday, August 16, 2020

Talking to myself

 


The setting sun’s golden shapes 

dart about the tiny fiefdom

of a parking lot


where I am talking 

to myself again when 

I should be listening 


to the blades that squeeze 

up through the cracks.


They may have 

important things 

to tell that I should know


like how to stake 

a claim to life 

in this forsaken world.


And though the night and I

just shrugged them off, 


look now how 

I remember them.



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