(I think this has been brooding in my head. Last night in my sleep I had the vision of two sutures going through the same hole in bleeding skin. It was time to put it down on paper.)
This kind of pain is
like the pain of birth
but there is no new life.
It is pulling a double suture;
two needles, two threads
but one hole. It bleeds just the same.
The cries are mournful
just the same as those who cheer
in the streets though unaware.
Those getting drunk in musty bars
finding only blinding fog when they leave,
their path home is unclear.
The sand gives no direction,
their path shrouded in freedom
in a land with no compass.
3 May 2011
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