Filtering Through
I had friends once
they are all gathering dust now
in empty rooms.
I had a mother
I keep thinking about her now,
now that I realize I never really knew her.
A poet is a filter,
a sieve for all the gone astray parts of a life,
a dissection room for wayward realities.
It would have been nice to have loved more
hated more, or had been less than I am.
Tomorrow is doggy paddling,
eventually the current will bring it ashore;
eventually the night will steal us all away.
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