Heavy As Any Ache
hang in the grip of this cloud
for long. The waste
of bad habits, concealing
kindness with a show
of wit. Sarcasm as fatal
as a cut throat or plain as
a child’s cry.
Hearts stuffed with
hollow match-stick crimes.
Counter clockwise the sun spins. The moon
climbs the back of an angel, breaks
her thin spine.
You look the other way, look for a hero
rising from your hands, for a rainbow
in my flooded eyes.
It cannot be done. We cannot be more
© 1992 by Allison Grayhurst
Published in “Our Poetry Archive” November 2018
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