clip

there’s time tho

to stop; retract

the word, your

step, back

to where/before you

even thought

of it. no

sweat – the hand-

gun is/ - and,

gone.  a fact for a long

 

long/.

historians

 

know but not

why, by what

way you come,

some chance!

determines. or

wanting discipline.

the mind fidgets

like a hand, as a

spasm in sleep keeps us

in/, the dark dark
http://bit.ly/2DKPsg7

Poetry posted here was originally posted on New Zealand Poetry

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