THIS IS A POEM ABOUT A WET HAND TOWEL AND MY LIMITATIONS 11.30.17

11.30.17

 

it has captured in its hands
and twisted brilliantly
this soul of mine
wrenching it
like a wet hand towel.
but i will not leave it.
that is my limitation.
it has me,
truly,
eternally,
it does.

 


Written at 1:14 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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