Can you hear the disgust, pealing like bells

Driving you from your hopeful slumber,

Thrusting you out into the unforgiving light

Where all the faults and crevices into which

Your life has fallen are illuminated

Like so many wrinkles on your brow?


Rejection is like a mildew

Creeping up the walls and tiles

That line your dreams.


When the time comes, as it always does,

Fall into the razor edge

Of the eyes that laugh

At you for what you are.


Print the words in your book

Carefully, with short precise strokes.

Knife the pen along the page

And draw your blood from its blank stare.


He sweeps his leaden arms only to

Spill the wine on the lace tablecloth,

Soaking it in grapes and sadness

While the company rises and leaves.


If I am under there,

The small dark place where it is hidden,

I can see the sky if my head tilts just so

But the ground surrounds me.


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