Monday, July 13, 2015


Quiet space fills it,
Laughter too, and creation.
Daily Dries the Tank…

Small demands destroy,
Tiny talk and wasted breath,
They, unwitting drains.

Such touch is toxic:
Well meaning? unmeaning? Void?
It empties my chest.

Thrumming, fluttering,
Rimmed discomfort supplants it.
Even friendly voices jostle the hollow and bring no succor.

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