\It was a
nervous jerk –
and so:
unfulfilling,
I’m still all nerves.
finger-tips and
heart valves.
The rocking of
sufficient breathing.
And I flit with the
desk lamp to melt
away those lines of light
across the ceiling.
This is it: convergence
of bloods, dissonance,
should there exist
such a word –
where is all of this
space when I’m
on trains? or
choosing breakfast
cereal?
All of those pens,
clips, jagged gleams
of metal on the desk –
Oh would they fit nicely
right back
behind my eyes!
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