The nineteenth of October
implied endings,
too many questions,
and irrefutable sickness
Every span of time
cast her into something less believable;
farther than the eye was willing or able to see
and farther than words
could reach or understand
"I'm sorry" became the beginning
of days better spent.
"Next time" became twelve hours
of willful rest.
and "I'm trying" became a vicious
breed of repetition.
YOU ARE READING
At Odds & Loose Ends: A poetry Collection
PoetryPoems new and old that didn't fit into other collections or were out for consideration at the time. All of my loose ends.
