Monday, September 29, 2014

Poem 9/16

You're eyeing the air above your head, grasping
At fleeting small-talk questions, tiny hooks tossed into the lake of me
Some draw out raw statistics, impersonal details
(My hometown, places I've travelled, what book I'm reading);
Others are strung at their ends to great matters;
They pull from within me, like trembling silver fish,
Gasping for breath.

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