"Yes, but it hurts to realize!" (Lawrence Durrell)
A cento of suns (I still find) wouldn't
nor let alone those
forested paths strung like the foetid
body of a lie--
Always second or third from me the
eyes, smile
that ought rather to smooth, to know
but don't--
In a steady scentless rain, in park
trails
always feeding second or third from
that which ought most
and never does, soothe a numb, in-
consolable me
Always lying eyes & the run
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