Sorrow is amphibious – breeding,
breathing everywhere: elusive,
slippery, cold-blooded, sluggish,
involuted – loping listlessly
across the mind – searching
without heart for something
fresh to kill: like some ill-costumed
frogman in a bad sci-fi flick.
She says she’s picking through
her life with care, squeezing joy
and meaning from it, conquering
despair – gleaning focus, purpose,
fit. I don’t believe a word of it.
.
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