Somettimes II





Sometimes when I see you again I marvel at your clarity. I wish I could be so sure of things and I wish you couldn’t pretend. Who do we do these flourishes for, at front, back, and top? What’s crowded out in the spectacle is the space. Room to breathe for I, me, time. The double-cross has its religion as much as its trickery. It happens to all of us. somettimes.

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