I stand with my face to the south
there is no sound outside my mind
running away in commentary and
despite wanting to belong
multicolored diagrams flash
vicariously on digital screens
the view is seldom clarity and
I am a rose colored spectacle
to my left there is nothing new
one more anecdotal plan in
a stack of rickety configurations
I often lean on tenuous framework
I wait for cracks to give way to light
time is a sodden beast heaving a burden
always chasing its own end
I wonder if I have always been weary
© november 2011 heather brager
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