Monday 5/6/2013

A day of simple, unhappy tasks
     uneasy in body
           and looking out on the field

without really looking
     one confesses
           sometimes in a poem

to no one particularly
     although the poem online is, maybe,
            a tattoo you wear forever

doesn't even lose its edge --
     as your skin's oils and acids
             would blur a tattoo's ink --

but just sits there, dated
     in the laptop's lightbox
             the evidence 

thankfully edged out of the way
     by the next day and the next
             little talk with yourself
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