Whatever’s done

We’ve got pills
that bring us up,
savagely into happiness
where the time to expand
becomes the will of saints
and in that array
sleeps the night,
just waiting to accept us.
This makes me free of accusations
brought by the
sidewalk rollers
who’re shooting across
these vacant,
narrow streets.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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