Posted in Poetry

Contagion


I keep recycling these magical thoughts in hopes mushrooms sprout where all can watch and wonder how love works.

What does this even mean? I suffer alone under my floppy summer hat. Hold a candle to my eyes and you will find invisible tears streaming inside where evaporation cannot happen.

I will spare you the grey clouds. Maybe there never were silver linings in my mind. The hypothetical me exists alone.

(I hope DeAnthony will always remember I cared. And he makes his momma happy forever.)

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