THE SAME OLD SAD SONG.
Afterdusk Deja-Vu
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Jun 17, 2024
Rhymes, I must confess,
at my behest, tend to
fester into something more
or less sore, a shore where
safety’s a smile shallow
as the mask you taped
over the past. If I am deft,
there’s nothing left, hone ash
to glass, cracked & sharp &
tarnished as the silver ones
who simmer, no shimmer seen—
just the same old sad song
we long for & play on repeat.
