"Fleeting"
- for Buko.
dear ______,
I have been stuck
in this cramped room
hunched over
the typewriter
you sent me unwrapped
three Christmas' ago
trying to find the words
sometimes your voice
floats in my head
just before sleep arrive
the cabinets are bare
my chest feels like
a thousand rotten butterflies
the sweetest decline
of modern civilization
has been the institution
of high rise dishwashers
the words threaten to overtake
my delicate fingers
should I stay here
and surrender to the inglorious
bastards who stalk
like living shadows
ever so subtle
into the fray?
- RD
Copyright: 2009, by Raymund Diaz Delizo
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