Stitchin’: A Poem

As if suspended in the air by a director’s “Cut!” are the balls you’ve been juggling. Far too many,  you’re trailing; never once will you taste the carrot.

Rinse repeat.

A ten-stack of bricks lay on your chest each morning.

A deja vu that won’t quit – you sit – in its unshakable daze. Or, in malaise, your most cherished designation. Inflation, or is it a staycation in a banana boat on the riviera.

Come as you are and come apart at the seams. Don’t worry, ’cause I’ll stitch you with my needle and thread.

Love, J.L.

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