Eves of change
Uselessly holding on
What's come to pass
Grasping rings of smoke
Tucking them in empty jars
Left from canning
I feel, wanting to feel more
Visceral manifestation
Buried, buried within me
Shelved glass cages
Averting their eyes from mine
Hovering ghosts float like fish
I know what I want, nothing I thought
My artless frustration
Slow, incompetent venturing
The winter/spring preserves
Hopefully still fresh then
Unsealed at three days death
My unreturned is worse
His map is laid
Mine is a thousand thoughts
Spooned stale smoke
Over sleepy congenial flesh
Melted by un-attached words
My muse is mortal
I want to wrap him in my sheets
Lick his wounds to peace
The complicated I am
Defies convention of wrong
Restless change defines my unfulfilled want
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