Mocking Bird Down

Forget me knot, the tangled
mess that interrupts.

The silence that pushes back.
The wordless forgiveness in the slack.
The humanity in the tunnel vision.
The peace in the
in the monotony of
level headed dispassion.

I forgot how to love, today.
Was more of triggered mental delay;
a test in compassion.
On how to ration.
Or, how to fashion –
my own standing ovation.

I lost the thread, at the foot of my bed
while you told me stories of
the origins of your brand of Whiskey.
You burned lips on the cold
that I sold, to you;
out of pure habit.

Come back tomorrow, young man.
I may remember how it’s
supposed to unfold, by then.


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