Some day,

I think you’ll know my heart.

You’ll pick up the folder, book, journal

and break your heart

like the ice forming outside,

(At least this sheet)

 

You’ll know

how hurt I was when forgotten

when i was secondary 

to life in general

the show,

phonecall.

 

at this point,

i am gone

a scratch of ink lines

stretching a word to a thought,

into a strange passion,

you’ve never read.

 

 

11 December 2008

Dave Barber

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