Published in Words Dance #14, print edition – October 2013.


comes a time when your fingers
are numb to touch or lack of touch,
and the lit ends of your candle
are not giving off heat, but just
your beloved ennui,
your dizzying pace,
they resolve
to nothing
suddenly –
it’s jarring enough to
pluck you straight out
of your world,
like god had some
involuntary knee-jerk
or head twitch
that made you
but only halfway –
and you are stuck,
insect in the amber –
spindly legs and
unfinished sentences,
grazing the air but
never able to give in
to either fate..
stay dead or
break open,
neither seems
like a solution when you’re
watching the world explode
behind you
in a mirror reflection –
but you can’t seem to
focus on anything except
that smudge on the glass.

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