on a sunday, i dig through
a cardboard
box in the basement.
it's thick with papers,
old bills,
photographs.
odds and ends of things
i apparently think
or thought we're
indispensable.
i come across a loose
leaf note book with
spiral rings
from the early seventies.
strange attempts
at poetry.
dark musings,
mostly about relationships,
parents,
money, sex. the l word,
and trying to
figure out this crazy world
we're in.
nothing's changed, dear
boy.
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