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back to the grind

i bang out books,
reading stale verses;
the laws of the land,
the ever-changing word
of some fickle god.
here, i hole myself away.
my friends live across
the country,
but it's wide enough
it might as well be
a whole world.
i bury my head
in books,
the days slip past
like spoiled milk.
at night i curl up
against my shark.
some nights,
realizing it won't help
to sob into my blankets
i stay up, sleepless.
days trudge into monotony,
and i lose track of whether
the sun is rising or setting.
i am summed up
in a semi-colon
and a closed parenthesis.
i want to tear the heads
off your fucking giraffes;
i want to throw them
down a garburator
that i don't have.
i want to bury your
hoodie that you
put over my shoulders
at the beach
so many years ago
when i was cold.
it feels like a distant memory,
and now i'm only left with the fabric.
night sets in like a dark veil;
it's time to retreat into my shell,
an eternity of entombment.

24 Sep 10

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