10 Miles

March 14, 2008
Lungs like an empty closet
cracked like the floor of a red desert
muscle fibers frayed like the strings of a violin
posture destroyed like a broken Greek statue

stumbling to the ticket table
a face of pure exhaustion and ironic defeat
friendly words of encouragement are neglected
nothing can cure this deadening sickness
nothing but one thing

A beautiful apple,
desolate in its sheer beauty
an illuminating Popsicle
basking in an essence of desire

the hope diamond,
the Holy Grail,
my cure.

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