Sat
Dec
19
the seams the storm ripped free
the seams the storm ripped free
as gleaners pulling fruit from trees in autumn do.
but i did not look at you with him
and want to die
there were no acts of senseless violence done.
you were not brought into this world
for making maps
or to give direction to blind snowmen in the breeze
or smiling at dull kinsmen on the plough.
yet days and weeks they seem to pass
while soaking in the briny green you pushed me though.
you are a live museum
and me, i am the low paid guard
just like ones in turkey in the blinding sun
left watching over ruins of tin and shadowy pride
of knowledge without wisdom done
and empty shelves the grocer’s nephew won.
