It’s cold
outside before sunup and like neighborhood kids looking for a cat I am looking for a poem its Veterans day and there are free haircuts and breakfasts and I’m looking for a poem it’s Saturday and the ghosts are still screaming and I’m looking for a poem it’s November in a town by the lake and I’m looking for a poem I’m 52 with ruined hips a sore back and I’m looking for a poem it’s everything and nothing it’s magic and loss it’s soap soup and salvation its a thing you never talk about like a mistress or PTSD it hides in plain sight it winds my clock trips my trigger it’s the first thing I reach for and the last thing I think of it’s as thin as smoke but hot as fire it’s why I get up at 5 am and drive the empty streets because today like every day I am looking for a poem. —Matt Borczon
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