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Split in the Road (Magical Little Pill)

Sidewalk crack – my foot treads over it easily and
I become paralyzed, blind, emotionless.
You’d think birds could life the haze of definition, that it would
be too hot in the summer and locked pinkies could break the
barriers on creation.
Open up possibilities: I could actually look in the mirror and
respect the silhouette that shakes its head back at me.
I am horizontal to the pavement
(in sand, hand in hand)
with nowhere slapped to immovable permission – denied.
In me I do not know you but
I linger on the luck that is a lie.
Pain sinks into every pore of my skin, becoming
me,
harmonizing to the song of blame,
snapping shots of our gloomy marriage; every time I think about the
other half of what I thought existed
I fling myself, my insensitive sense, from the purple canyon loggia and
Sink my eyes into becoming real – snapping into place;
like blood outside slashed bark;
like freedom.
I broke my back and you broke my open-ended heart,
but I’ll swallow some magic little pill and sail right back to par;
clear this vaporous screwed-off head,
flex and reflex,
pretend and elude fissures of time.
Oh my ravishing tantamount,
my delusion,
I hope we will fall in love when I am sane.





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