and so it goes,
we’re right back to it.
Fishing line dangled,
rubbing our new piercing…
swinging by our confidence
bleeding from our arguments
hanging, with painful fascination
like a child, worrying a scab
swinging at a baseball strike
attending a firemens’ ball
we cribbage in our baby beds
while infants do accounting
and we discount all our hopes
and we add fear like a warranty
and divided from our joy
we live our life in averages
maybe it’s a sine?
I don’t know, ‘cos
I’m off getting my tan.
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