tiny footsteps
on creaky stairs
sounds like human
but is cat.
Showing posts with label poem 20. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem 20. Show all posts
Never The Twain Shall Meet
The mouth agape, or the held tongue sliding back behind the door,
how many chances for a stranger, how many for a relative, or a friend,
hope and disappointment should be a continuum but the treachery,
like being backed into, all dug out, a hopeless foxhole of rage, disappointment feels like despair and despair hasn't found a place in me yet I live it like disappointment which seems more familiar in how its penny drops and how quickly its ripples rouse my anger.
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