I sit in the twilight alone
with my sorrow
silence like a kettle drum
creshendoing in my head
My thoughts run on and on
a rosary, mardi gras beads,
baubles on threads of memories my own and
those bequeathed to me
or imagined
invented
picked up like cheap souvenirs from
some former life
We are never alone we are
always alone
I can't decide
I want to cry
but can't afford
the luxury
-- lscollison 0/23/2010
