Thursday, April 27, 2017


although i can't quite find it,
i know there is a hole
through which a steady leak
siphons from my soul

acuity and clarity
and effects in me a wobble
that at this rate will graduate
to habitual hobble.

thus my self-quarantine,
my movement to the fringe,
lest the leak of which i speak
on someone else impinge.

and so these years of solitude
until i can find and fix the drip
that looks like contrails on the radar,
bleeding from a blip.

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