Archive for August 31, 2011

That day

The day the suitcase stood in the living room,
open,  waiting for contents, but no one was there
to fill it, and a spider already decided to make its web
in the rusty iron corners where it would never catch a fly,
when dust  danced in the sunlight that came in through misty windows
that day would be known as too late.

Not ready

I am not ready to make poetry
out of my worst anxiety
as the mess I am at times
is due to not being able to
make head or tail.
Or was this a poem ?

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