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It’s always been different
and always the same
it’s all been anonymous
and all had a name
It’s had no beginning
and having no end
the truth lost in playing
this game of pretend
The magic in giving,
what’s been taken is lost
the price of the folly
exceeding its cost
And we search the horizon
never leaving the shore
the waves ever constant
now as then—and before

(The New Room: January, 2022)
 Jan 2022 Sarah Spencer
N
What an exhausting year

My hungry heart torturing  
me with its violent desires

My trembling hands
aching for her warmth

My mind battling itself
trying to return from war

My depression,
a bloodthirsty dog,
and the nights keep coming

My soul, a wildfire
consuming everything,
leaving me with a lifetime of grief  

Yet I am still here
Shattered, but alive
New year, eh?
Long & green between thumb & forefinger,
she fished it out of her nose.

First graders do all sorts of ill-mannered
things, I suppose.

But to savor the slimy lizard as tasty morsel
was stretching it a bit.

Spreading it on a ******* is
where this little charming story should have quit.

Suffice to say, she's a little radical,
one of those raiders of a lost art.

Eating ones own boogers takes bravado,
and earns a gold star for this ornery upstart.
 Jan 2022 Sarah Spencer
Grey
Aching,
empty.
Restless
but not
in motion.
Words
blocked
like a
******'s dam.
Leaking through
the cracks
waiting for
the flood.
1/18/2022
Words always in my mind
but never my mouth.
They're crumbling away at my touch.
Her eyes as blue as the skies on a stormy day.
Her lips as red as a rose.
Though I don't know her name I have already fallen for this mystery girl.
The past is not the present
The present is not the future
Which means you can be
more than your past
 Jan 2022 Sarah Spencer
Brooklyn
She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
like secrets.
She will take them out
like postcards
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
eyes close
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that  
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.

The tune
will carry her.

Like it did
the times when
voices broke
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings
would snap
and hurt.
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