A Pair of Petits Fours on a Plate
In the pregnant morning sky, the sunIs not yet born, and, thus, this day
Is not yet quite alive. I'm glad of that.
With birth, with sun, begins the long
Decay.
I'll be here, immobile. I've broken my toe.
It hurts like hell to try to go anywhere.
You can come laugh, if you'd like. I won't
Mind, as my heart has healed. I no longer
Love you. Come or don't. Live or die.
The heart hurt more than the toe.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 45 times
Written on 2010-06-19 at 14:39
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