at its source

months, epochs really

my bones nothing more

dusty warehouses

a broken cage left open

butterflies escaped

and the bars slammed shut

so i wonder

and wander about

seasonal shift falls upon me

opened curtains reveal dim light

quickly snuffed by truth

leather sinks into my backside

where long ago hands deigned

emptiness a constant reminder

flawed surfaces never shine the same

their polish worn and chipped

self-awareness deadly and stifling

denial for others when reality


and imagination an ink filled pen

touching down on a flashing screen

Originally published at on September 23, 2016.

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