Time slips its leash and moves
into the garbage dump of memory
to hunt discoveries buried deep
under the detritus of a life hardly spent
in chewing each event to yield its marrow.
There lie the tattered shirts of feeling,
soiled from bloody spots of marriages
unmassaged by remorse at being cast away.
There the children's bears, stuffing
beaten out the day I left and never came again.
- The end of the world
- Připojen/aJuly 15, 2020
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