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Glut (Elegy and The Wandering Jew)

March 7, 2014


I told her.
That I loved her.
And this.
Was my first mistake.
These things.
They don’t come for free.
Figs falling.
Half rotten.
At my feet.
Upon them, pinned.
Every affectation.
And dream.
So childish.
So naive.
Like the fool flinging hexes.
At both sides of the tree.
Before and after.
Fruit had fallen.
Cursed when in bloom.
Cursed when laid barren.
You pain me.
In the way you remain.
Attached to the binary.
And divorced from the grey.
We were handed these decades.
And we slept them away.
Built empires by night.
Then tore them down in one day.
Just one day.
To destroy.
All roads leading from Rome.
Don’t forget.
To call me.
When you make your way home.


From → Poetry

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