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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings # 72 - Edge of Empathy (published in POEM)



No vault inside me to store

your heartache,

keep secure your secrets.


More sponge, pore-bearer,

sodden.  Squeeze me

dry and empty.  A wall


to hold me at safe remove? 

Too cold, too far, dressed

in a long black robe. I wish


your words could wash

over me like rain

– the temperature of tears –


and as from a spun umbrella,

these drops would fly

out, out and far away.


Yes, this is a dying.  But not

the skinbag-body

full of blood, sinew and bone.


Only our ideas – hovering

bubbles that life in time

will shatter and pop. 


You have no clue how raw

your words rub

my own regrets,


secreted within and impossible

to remove.  Forgive me.

I set the clock for


how long I can bear

to listen,

and imagine a vault


outside me.  In it, I lay down

your woes – heavy

as feet encased in concrete –


lock the door,

and, for both our sakes,

throw away the key.



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