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Untitled (10/20/09)

January 2, 2010

so many shaved cocoons,
if they robbed you of your beauty you’d listen
sharply
accusing the other of owning the sun

as if some afternoon was the best you’ve ever had,
tossed in with some youth,
that withered stare of yours goes on and on,
into a gray morning of longing

but the fighting soon comes to a close,
whether you like it or not,

that lip of honor comes curled around your favors
without asking

and all the things you wanted become a bit unsure,

that door leading nowhere instead of upstairs,
to better floors with brighter furniture,

it all collapses around that knowledge once found,
once you’ve got it

you can have everything you want.

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