Misdirect


My love is felt through its absence
and within its imagination of empty things
She passes right through me; she moves despite me; she despises me
I awake each day sinking in its failed charades
and signs that sway in wrong directions
I followed blindly and ended up nowhere in particular
With graven images on my heart;
whose mind reaches with empty hands
I wallow in its loss each day
and swallow the bitterness and head in the opposite direction,
so I may crawl elsewhere

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