Loveless and out of stamps...

Epistolary Divagation

Nene:
Who flew away?
Ah! The Nest fell away!
New York?
Exotic locales
exculpating beauty and lust,
fire and empty masks.

Abject poverty:
My feet, my unfeeling feet
are trying to try
treading on dirt, try
giving a hand; no matter
how many, no, no,
how many I touch,
inside me it don’t matter:
escape’s what I sought,
what I seek, what I ignore
regarding what ifs.

Anyway,
How’s life?
At times, a tingle, a touch
on my ribcage feels
like a golden bird,
floating in me, once again;
then I remember
that I’m just hollow,
like the bird that’s not in me.

I Miss You.