TWENTY-FOUR LENGTH
They, nor she, have known these days beside roadways and window lines. Passing shoulders cornered in my sight; unseen air gives my abandonments more weight. I live and lie an audible frame for which no persona perceives.
Myself, only I, have known these days beside retreatists and widowers. Paths we take yet eyes are tilted; anchored hopes tilling regretted earth. We live and lie a stalemate prose burning in private prison’s flesh sides.
