Sunday, August 2, 2020

performing in front of a live studio audience

here is not there 
because the sun stings my eyes 
whenever I look for the moon;
because I'm lethargic during the day, 
yet feel the gravity of anxiety at night.
I long for the things that 
have come unexpectedly 
and gone with urgency.

maybe that's why 
I pine for you and 
the familiar. 

I know now 
that both are as nefarious
as the disease that wears 
my grandfather's 
husk year-round, 
but still I visit him 
and the thought of you 
as much as my mind 
will let me. 

so let me ask:
when he passes
will the thoughts 
that I have of you 
do the same?

will I be able 
to feel warmth 
from the sun,
or admiration 
from the stars?

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