Experiment


He was a stranger.
But never forget: that’s the point.

It was Christmas that did it, I think – it was
everywhere when we first started-
and I thought about
giving up wine for the legend of good hugs,
a rolling of everyday activities
and social i(n)tera(c)tion.

I am slices, gathered, collected, and kept
like tissue samples – people tire of inspecting the same slide
and demand new ones, the burning
heat of the microscope
against thin tissue-
I accept it because doesn’t warmth always have a price?

It becomes mundane after a while.
(What does?)
(The writing. Just the writing.)

He was a stranger.
But never forget: that’s the point.

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This entry was posted in Mental Health, poetry, Thoughts on Life, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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