it couldn't be perfect,
and so i left it behind. much of it
was critical to my health,
my eyes now pounding at the front of my
play-dough mind,
dry and wry and hurting.
and we couldn't be too happy,
so i put on a grim and look down. mostly
i was glad that you were there,
a magic ensemble sitting in the corner of my
still-life mind,
smiles and eyes all down my spine.
1 comment:
i am a fan of
A. this poem
B. the play
i am not a fan of
A. illness
B. illness
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