Monday, April 11, 2016

THINGS GET EASIER

Overhead—in the crisp 
wind 

two quick irises
document the sight—of three 

little round 
glinting tin-
foil baubles—once bought,

once owned,
once 

given, once 
tangible—now going 

twisting,
aimless and 
totally haphazard, over 

and under one 
another—through 
the blank infinity 

of azure. And at first, 
the brain 

registers—oh, what a
tragedy! (though, at least 
they're still 

all in that 
mess together);
but then, afterwards—a mind 

just might 
kick-in 
and consider—that it's 

nice 
how it—just doesn't matter anymore,

whether they 
once bore 

notes of congratulation, 
or 

were always meant 
to be—consolatory.

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