early teens with no excuse,
robbing the unmonitored isles
of my mind. for a dead light.
Escaping lies just beyond the
border of a state (of mine, mind, mined),
longing for it while cement
seat-buckled into place, held in by the
weight, or the
wait of fifteen sagging minutes
till the last day neglects to
pace on the front step
ringing the doorbell. Odd jeans
wearing, black shirt, bad smile bearing,
or at least it needs some work
kind of thoughts peering through
the peephole at a wall on crooked
shoulders, cup of coffee holding holder
mumbles a moment, my
thoughts are blonde.
I don't want to answer the
door today.
Soaking in.
mhwordell
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