chester maynes

 

I stopped.
The motion of time entangles my capacity to understand.

I am agitated.
It’s sadness that creaks from my windowsill.

I turned to stare from the inside.
The city landscape bares a pity play.

I cannot mourn.
My resistance is my own orthodoxy.

Hatred is selling like hotcakes.
That is what I know.

I am bent.

 

2011

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About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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