Thursday, February 16, 2012



Time to come clean, admit something you may
or may not know, a kind lie to claim the
latter.  Confess is too strong a word, it
smacks of sin, ill intent when, truth be told

my crime is common as corduroy pants
on a cold afternoon, apples in pie,
fooling none besides myself, a sanguine
fool perfectly willing to march ahead

when most of the time I was stepping blind,
wont to make it up as I went along,
tinny bugle sound of small victories
from time to time muffling the shotgun crack

of ice thin under the skates I woke up
wearing, underway at full speed, headlong,
needing only to tuck, feet parallel,
knees flexed but contemplating figure eights.   

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