Wednesday, June 12, 2013

poem of the day 06.12.13


you call
from the shit swell
of an art festival
two days before our anniversary
and tell me you are lost
between saleable junk
and some hippie selling
his dog,
and that you will be going
to a bar because you can’t
find your friends.
that’s all right
i think
as long as you are safe
because when you left me
an hour ago
the feeling hit me that we
would one day no longer
hear each other’s voices
that everything we know
about each other
would one day cease.

so i’d rather picture you
alone in a bar
than gone from me
for all eternity.


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