by Cam M. Roberts


One accepts loss, but not defeat,
the tea leaves still are steeping, there’s a token grief in broken promises
and then there’s the death of fresh water, let us think, every false premise
of unspoken loneliness, now we drink,
wait for the skins of our teeth, a drop of honey, the high cost
of low living, raw sugar, no room to build
our stale dreams, look inside the jar labeled gerundive — Warbling amid the quiet lake
an invalid Swan Queen eats her vandal cake
and calls it Fisher King —
hold the milk:
Hysterical pregnancies once brief have gone too far where the pause has lasted for too long
then the stealth miscarriage of silence that sinks in as it deepens…
At times a smile is [nothing more than] a word-clot
for our wounded speech, this blood-stained mirror
withers into a chiral scar —
Dry swallowing.


© CMR, 2014

About Cam M. Roberts

Actor, Writer & Poet. WFU '12. NCSSM '08.
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