Tuesday, June 24, 2008


I am less than what the world says.
It has been very kind,
but my jig is up.

It outruns me without even trying,
some natural engine of atoms
and waltzes I am left to enjoy from behind.

Deciding I was too much work,
even my dreams have taken up with other men.

And you have the nerve to ask me if I still love you.


You are the least of my worries.

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