As dogs return to vomit
You come back to make me laugh
Telling jokes about the future
Pretty punchlines from the past
It’s funny how the truth becomes
A footnote to what’s known
Interpretations based upon
The things we’re never shown
The facts unravel slowly
As if links inside a chain
A question of what’s only
Spoken through another’s name
A consequence of conscience
Soon becomes a vain obsession
Fruition is elusive
As you drown in your confessions
Little wonder you can’t feel
The ground before you fall
Thinking you are clever
Once you choose to lose it all
But choices can be fickle
As if postcards that you save
A poor excuse for asking
For the sympathy you crave
But how we ask is more precise
As innuendo goes
The tension in the air we slice
Is folly for our prose
For as a fool returns
To kiss the lips of love’s demise
The past is so repeated
When we fail to recognize

TM DiSarro

From the new book: EVERY WICKED BIRD

Art: Michael Cheval

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