May 9, 2012

I hear birds outside. It’s four a.m.
Let’s finish the poem when I wake
up then.

***

I awake feeling slashed. Four hours
later it’s that awful hour.
I am cut to ribbons emotionally
though I haven’t been conscious
till just now. How does this work?

***

It’s getting hard to think of you
without the accompanying word
“jerk.” Take that as you will; both
assumptions are probably correct.

***

And it has all fallen apart again.

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