comfort round

no rest for the wicked
yet only love will worry
fret
strum the day into the next

there was a time i slept to wake
part of the furniture
fading into who i was

the ceiling is dark
the window of the laptop, bright
every turn i move
one more twisted grace
postured for the night
to close eyes and leave

oh to remember far too much!
faith wove it late and wide

to plan –nothing
the now cupped in a hand
folded and creased
do you win or lose?
i think the wicked also rest
belief

is what it is

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