An Empty Present

I wish I could tell you more,
but as it stands
these stanzas that I write
will never right
any of the wrongs I’ve ever done.
I only do it
to spill myself out,
like cutting open my own stomach
could share intestine secrets
and the blood on the floor
might map out my future like tea leaves
for any of the people around
still looking for something to read.

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About Sean O'Gorman

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

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