Untitled Cliché
Comfort Lost in Transition
sonic drive through
relocated target
switch pad
house boxes
Still don’t know address
district asking where I been
where I told
lost mail in transition
livin’ a new toothpick stack
after a Friday in March
can’t figure out
what the fuck happened?
Go, disqualify for
out of bounds language
don’t know jack poetry
but a comfort contest
I know
Cliche.
.
Describe precisely what comfort post-pandemic?
Be specific. I’m a teacher.
Take me back
rewind the script
turn rotor counterclockwise
roll ridges to click
strike white
start there
I'll do it over again
But next time I see it all in advance
maybe different means be taken
to not have to feel this pain
I am struggling
Buckling
Joints Wobbly
Under the weight
I am trying
poetry
In hopes of
Finding comfort
in grief
13
About the Creator
No Real Balance
Reluctant Writer. Teacher.
Hawking vocal contests for love letters.
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