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finally the spell

has broken, when i broke
predictable, almost, in its comforting
pattern of life out of death
yadda, yadda, yadda, the spell,
finally is broken, where i can
once again feel, even if it is
only loss, and only
in darkness, or in
my cube at the oddest times while
on the computer, or once when i saw
two random people going about their
lives outside on their driveway
discussing perhaps
which weekend to weed
or who would pick up
the car from the mechanic, or
the time i felt deeply when i
saw that eight of the ten
people on the Bart train
had gold bands on their
fingers and i, getting
used to the nakedness
of my finger, light
in its loss, skinny
and bare like a tree made
of twigs that pretends
one day it will grow
 up to be broad, full of leave

 – Alameda | April 5, 2003

©2006 Jamie Gross | All Rights Reserved