Serum
There is no repair
for the broken machine
in me.
What does a person
do with this truth?
To know that the road
is ending.
To know that each step
creates a print
that may be final.
They pump me with
serums, but I am not so
easily saved.
Community
He hates the
word because it reminds
him
of hand-holding, voices
in chorus.
The isolationist in him
does not care for
what some consider
beautiful.
So he tucks himself
far away.
Reluctant Recipients
I carry a gift
they do not want.
I offer it and they scoff.
I write
while they look on
with rolling eyes
face full of disdain.
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