by Annette Snyckers

Things crowd in
this summer afternoon
of late sunlight
on a gunmetal sea

Things I try to push away,
not wanting them
to crawl and multiply
in this secluded place

Things I cannot allow
to foul my fought-for days
and staked-out solitude,
things that smell of smut

Things that buzz and beat
against the computer screen
wanting out, out, out
reeking of retribution

It rained this morning,
the heat is broken
and so is the spell
I have spun around myself

Unravelled it is, cleft
like a cocoon cut open
exposing my unready heart
to the words on the screen

Look, see, read:
The things said and done
by people to people:
Things I want undone.


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