“Smith Going Backward” – Steve Carey
flame that glows in my pocket, where I go, I go.
to keep loving you, I grant this to myself, tiny little
something I suppose. Another door closed. I’m allowed
objects because I dig representation. I’ll keep
pageant methodically, a catalogue flow, sentimental
I float in my home, formerly ours, I lessen its
weight, be patient for the right bright thought
searched by the police. Into exile I go, & go nowhere
who cares, my pain, just pity, subject to random stance
though I chose a sulking existence, a choice,
I had one apparently, but did not know, I have to
let you go, but I don’t want to, not that I have.
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