Seven hours on low (a poem)

Saturday afternoon, drawing details from time and place…

That Moment
sits within the frame, deep purple
folding back upon itself

The arched eyebrow
of orange August gone down
takes her away (again)
rendering blue notes illegible

This morning I wake up
not remembering what brought me here
but keenly aware of the work to be done

I don’t know what I think of it now
every thought feels incomplete
every pause a complete breakdown
every moment doing anything wasted
every excuse a fabrication

Because I remember what brought me here

(5 October 2019)



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