the slates of color washed about strips of blank
canvas, unburdened by what may lie in this past
and shielded from what may yet come.
My heart is not like that. It never
has been.
But the walls streamline the scatter of my life
within these boundaries- the flourish of self
locked down by expectations and qualifications.
It doesn't ever matter
because my mind flails like a squid thrown from home.
Space divided by time and conflict; sometimes
I'm glad you're not here.
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