This evening waits against my empty heart.
It’s come to rest… footsteps die away.
Motors drone and light bulbs blaze of ice.
I’m alone and all up against myself.
The silence claws, begs me… for relief.
A letter’s started, dies, for nothing’s brief.
I willed to face it, the neon aching time,
without distractions, to edge up to some line.
gallagher
31 jan 84
irvine
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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