White Spring
Yes. We wake each day
to a terrible liberty
poets are lucky they can
enclose themselves in night
when we wake, the day
is often a pale version
surprised that people are
so earnest about their realities
but we don’t work in that department
I say we. I mean me
I say they. I mean them
but how sometimes people
are populated against their will
thirsty shadows on a white spring wall.
© 2016 Rob Schackne
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