Wednesday, July 6, 2016

soft spoken

I have forgotten how to live

I confess

how it is to pour a little sun on the skin

how it is to fold clothes hung dry

how do I clear my dead skin cells from the tiles

next to my bed

how do I function with a living space

                   I call home



my standards of comfort

responsibility

are to be instilled by the influence of the sorts       of which

who tells you

to shut the cover of detergent tight after you finish

who tells you to pick up trash that you have created

how does logic function within me

what draws a line of your discipline, claimed sense of righteousness

and a vision that I've blurred



I see circles

I spin






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