A look at what happens when you've climbed back out of the rabbit hole.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Memory

Every day I carry a thousand tiny heartbreaks
in my pocket.
They sting my fingers when I'm reaching for my keys.
They jangle when I'm running for the bus.
Their razor-sharp edges cut me when I'm not careful,
which is most of the time.
Every once in awhile I try to clean them out.
They shift and splinter and multiply like ground glass
and they tatter my lungs when I inhale.
So mostly I let them sit quietly in my pocket,
piercing me with their reminiscence when I move
to walk away.

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