No one has to pull off the gauze and
tape to know there is puss oozing
from infested terrain somewhere
deep inside everybody
A few recognize this rip in wholeness
a separation that can’t be closed
a chasm most will try to cross
on some rickety footbridge of life
only to have it snap
time and time again
Isn’t life the choreography of repetition of ten steps and a fall
of progress then failure
of glue-on-glued fracture?
and if you ever collapse and wail
from this sense of fracture
know that those stars you’re looking at
are much closer than you think
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