Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Waiting Room

a splatter of empty chairs
  outpace a pattern of voided steps
hands hold up my head up
          hold up a gaggle of gasps
              grasping oily, unwashed hair

I want to outpace it all
     all the tremored sighs
     all the wash-cloth stares
     all the hands silent

                outpace the fuck of it all

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