Tuesday, April 6, 2021



I’m not ready for this to end.  I like my mask, my half hidden face.  I never liked my warped smile.  I’ll delete every picture you take.  I can tell you everything I know with a glance and an arched brow.  I’m a natural at social distancing.  Six feet under is never enough.  I go deeper.  As long as there’s a wall of dirt I won’t stop clawing.  Until I fall through the bottom.  I imagine it pure and quiet and gray.  The light is like the sun through the petals of white Dahlias.  Gauzy and antiseptic. I can’t get sick here. There’s nothing to catch.  I’m safe and uncontagious.  I can forget up from down.  I can learn to throw a ball with my left.  I can forget.  I’m writing about digging.  I’m covering my mouth when I cough.  Some habits are hard to break.  It’s the easiest way to do no harm.  I forgot how to love. And now I can't spell the curve of your hips. The only thing I feel is the dull ache in my arm. I stay busy. Keep my mind both occupied and clear. I forget to look up, to catch the one who chooses to follow me here.  


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