Friday, July 20, 2007

Orphan Corner


Wearing the orphan weeds and find them heavy
On the lost street corner, sweating, trying to move
Toward a landmark I can remember
Somewhere, I do recall the lights
The house of memory, standing open, empty
Blazing with hope, comfortable chairs

Bathrooms of clean tile, privacy
I’m moving with increasing unease away

Losing it, losing me, losing them

The house of memory, standing open, empty

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