This may not
sound right
I am
So tired of me

And I can't even
see me

My results
I am alone
writing
my shipt
to you
prolly alone
too
readin' mine
tascape your own

Maybe we're too alike
to be more'n useless
have resorted to the beauty
of this mundane
solitude
hoping for art
and his knowing friends
to clap us on the back
and say things
we won't believe
even if they are truer
than your latest
fantasy

skin
lips
time
stir

Time's handed me
it's distraction
laughing

It's a grip
the unknowing has
of fear

that leads
us to
break bread

**** you and your smile
its half life of just past sleep
get out or in deep
no more
place holding



Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis