Trinity Bellwoods

By | 11 June 2013

Down to my last

Do you know the word pilling?
it’s a piling-on of fabrications

You wear it well or
wore it

Free range derangement commences
as denizens make strange with tenses and moods

I saw an old cancerous friend here;
he said, “I remember when I used to be creative –

They cut it out of me
all interstitial-like.”

Now, the lies and years are

I will miss you when you shun me. I write these
things for nothing

You remain
the best nothing I know

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