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Published: 2023-03-24 04:42:59 +0000 UTC; Views: 291; Favourites: 10; Downloads: 0
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I am scholarly
detached,
uncertain,
a teardrop between
uncomfortable
and not belonging.
Like a neglected wound
I am scarred
and imply,
what I don’t say.
I have no illusions about distractions.
I remain
a wanderer
waiting for storms to uproot
what I find grounding.
I cannot remember a journey
without doubt
or a romance
without glossy wings,
beautiful as a rainbow
but always
ill-fated.
For
wind and time
become
errors in an abyss
refusing to concede.
As I contemplate
the unsettling darkness
of characters I’ve played
self-deception
curls about me.
I sought the exceptional,
but found
the visceral.
I have trapped words and used them as lures.
Outlined with silver garlands
they shimmered
giving me an advantage.
But I
distrusted precautions
and when
the stakes were the highest
I walked away
alone.
~ Philip Butera
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