poetry

With polite company

The blithe roll of days

Stuck in the game as well

As you can be

Does it hurt to be you?

How quickly we have defeated ourselves

Unwashed plates,

In the sinks of our souls,

Looked outside and saw you

Dragging your suitcase to the lawn

One way or another

We are all leaving and packing,

Sometimes in a hurry

But the aim of consciousness

Without conception,

Is a step ahead,

And if it helps you

Remember those whose lives are spent forever,

Sat with polite company

Waiting rooms

Bus stations

And never getting to see anyone

Go anywhere

But I’ve got a book and I’ll risk

A conversation with a stranger

How

About

You?

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