Confess To Me, Oh Broken Thing!

 

 

Unspoken and unsung --
unable, here, to speak or sing -- 
the thing that breaks now tastes,

and takes itself into, oblivion.

It can’t be fixed: there is no fix.
Whatever mix evoked it

into being long ago

cannot be re-invoked. We lost
its recipe. Confess to me,

oh broken thing, the secrets

of your past! All I seem to know
so far is nothing lasts.









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