Friday, April 23, 2010

April can be a cruel month it has been said the cruelest

It was too gaping a hole
made in that life
all those changes at once
left a vacuum void sucking space

the world being what it is
detritus from falling spirits
swarmed in on wings of paper wasps
citified noise like engines of flight

there is no return to normal here
but a tear in the personal universe
long hard winds
finally there is only the space within




waiting for the triumph of vulnerability

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