This slit between thumb
and forefinger:
You know this is murder,
you know where this ends.
I twist your knife
and my body dies with a sigh.
Oh, the panicky phone calls at
2AM;
Oh, the need to know:
Lodged between hemispheres:
To see is to trust, to trust
that all is as it seems.
Peel skin to bone;
acquiescence is better
than silence,
and nothing is nothing
at all.
Image and Text (c) Rob Goldstein, 2017 all rights reserved.
A perfect evocative image to go with this poem, Rob.
The words are something I feel more than I rationally understand. But feel them I do and very much. It brings up dark times of the past.
Beautifully done. Hugs on the wing.
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Thank you Teagan. Hugs from the debris. 🙂
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and maybe nothing is something, because something can ofttimes be nothing.
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Yes. Case in point: Trump. A huge block of nothing made something by an army of trolls posing as people who don’t exist.
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I don’t even try to keep up anymore…who’s in…who’s out…who’s something…who’s nothing…you know what is Southerners say…”bless their hearts.” 🤣
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…because they’re so pathetic…
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I never understood why so many people have coulrophobia…until they started “sending them in.” 🤡
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At this point it’s right to fear clowns, and pigs, and any combination of the two. 🙂
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That’s supposed to be US…not is…stupid spellcheck. It must think it’s something…LOLOL
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And nothing is nothing at all- how profound this statement can be…
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I don’t know, to be honest. I honestly don’t get alot of my own work. I know that sounds weird.
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….i have been following your for a really long while and i must say you have really good posts..
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Thanks! I appreciate hearing that.
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