poetry
Comment 1

For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn

image

Hemingway didn’t mention a color.
These are violet. They catch the light
like a cat’s eye in the dark. They are too small

to make me feel
such big things–
as was she, in dream

after dream
after fucking dream–
until I stopped sleeping

all together.
Is there a scientific name
for an obsession with the imaginary?

Religion!
Haha, clever joke.
Told by someone without the answer

skirting serious
talk, because Why
do you have to be so dark?

This entry was posted in: poetry

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