then and there

it was then and there 

that surrender was declared

such an unforeseen disarmament 

in that very moment

with the restless smile 

of inevitable failure

every sinew fell obedient 

to the resemblance of oblivion 

for he, like an incurable fever

was slowly killing me

and my fury heating 

like mercury in a glass coffin

while shadow boxing insomnia

fists thrown indiscriminately

like firecrackers, or stones 

down a well, a catacomb 

of his inconvenience

comforted only by their own

echo, e c h o,  e  c  h  o

bury me, then and there

where flowers were planted

and pickets painted white

like flags

a. duncan, 2018

 

 

 

artwork: Old Picket Fence by Bonnie Bruno

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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