your hobbies-
darts on a checkered target
reel back and
thwap
a needle
pinning your hopes and dreams
to the corkboard,
butterflies preserved for the harvest
you can see
you lived the dream,
your life splayed out
before you-
some sort of sinister
Pollock on the pavement
you had it all
and then you blew it away,
two hands held together
like a small child mimics a gun
two shots-
bang
bang
-and there’s not a shot.
–
written a25jun2011.
–
idiography 