Poetry

 

it’s funny isn’t it

the way we nod with our eyes

but disagree with the size

of an unspoken epiphany

and all the snips and the clips of we

trying to gather themselves up

to be examined

in the light bulb moment

that might change on the morrow

the nuances of sorrow

and the other venn diagrams

we find impossible to share

as we try to bear

the broken glass of the light bulb

in our hands

 

 

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