20160313_075714the wound,this wound,will never heal,why,don’t know why,anger plays a wicked guitar,try as you will with all the practicing,again & again that lick will never be yours no matter no how,I sat watching as she sat beside me as we watch the parade,it wasn’t the same,not like it was ,not like it use to be,not like being in the house that had a pulse,that would never die,I still watch the parade,only alone because no one would understand the kitsch of it all,its the lipstick on the drinking glass the thumb print on the mirror,the imperfections of life that I want to remember,a house coat with a sweater


5 thoughts on “NYDay

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