"decima" poems
you just awaken every day
to stumble through unknown places
and trip through the gaps in spaces;
you are not safe, you’re lost, you relay
stolen lines all the same. you say:
“i just need to get through this week”
as if, after sunday, unique
places will appear, that you will
understand, at last. a standstill
comes, but now your world is oblique.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC