poetry critical

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sue and hide

when the time is right
the time isn't right
because... illusion, or whatever
or maybe just life rear'd it's head
and said
"get on with it".
these pipes might
be long and wide and big enough to fit yourself inside
but they're only
and wake up, wake up
the alarm of one sweaty palm
across delicate face
is enough to jar reality
out of me.
the rent is due,
where's your pocketbook?
the tics have run down
to the planck scale and
I'm out of chances
and running on fumes
of my own internal exhaust
that has no smell
like carbon monoxide
in the dusk I could never forget
and the last thing I'd remember
I'd wager.

23 Jun 16

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