the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011


When keystrokes became closed fists,
And even more tightly closed lips,
I couldn't give myself the space.
I wish I didn't keep tabs,
But you should have known,
This is how I compute.
What was emotionally consumed
Was made illogically moot
Was made the resilient distance,
A strain of virus and its proof.
Who would ever have thought?
When it was aptly made forgotten.
It would be safely placed poison,
No longer food, but won't go rotten.

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