Staples of Time

September 18, 2003

Are you okay?

I try to speak, but a staple gun
crunches up my throat.
Mismatched words are binded into ingenuine packages
that lie before they are spoken.

I’m fine I say.

The longer I anticipate the end, the less staples I need
and the more that come my way.



through my nose and into my throat,
but they don’t make the staples any looser.

Everyone’s story has an epilogue,
but hers is being written too soon.

of her                             and wet
The last line               life is crooked                  on the page.

Time is ready to staple
that chapter and file it away.

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