#23.3

I know I haven’t written for a while, I apologize.  Life grips me in its constant blandness and swirling of days.  Except the blandness is not bland at all, but too much and so I am trying to breathe through it all, work each day to the mold of tomorrow.

Here’s a poem I’ve been tasting on my tongue for the past few weeks, let me know if you like it.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Every time someone drops off a balcony
just stops being level with their existing
there are questions.

But there are only so many times you can
stay up wondering
stay
stay up wondering about the differences
in your theories
of their passed futures.

We’ve already read the book.
It doesn’t end well.

There is no middle,
and the characters have lost
their features-
blackoutline, highlight, black, aquamarine
It’s like playing Clue in fifth grade,
which room?
What with?
It doesn’t end well,
for Miss Scarlet
letter.

So really,
the story doesn’t matter it all

The bottom of the matter,
the bottom of it that’s left
all
over
the pavement-
it’s the only thing left

unburied and exposed.

-Arina

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