Monday, September 13, 2021

western sky

it irks me i haven't said anything 
and it irks me i think i have to say 
anything: why say something that 

will hurt him. why keep it in me 
why keep that which is mine and 
why keep that which is not. why 

is the word. the perfunctory word 
of colors and skies and man and 
of why i exist in limbo. btwn love 

and indifference, like wyoming 
or montana: where i'm told the sky 
does not end. the sun sets but it 

never escapes. i am like the sun 
i have set - but i have yet to escape 
and part of me never wants to 

and that is the why i've never said