Were it true
I would be there
I am not
it is not.
So asleep
at time for bed
at one deep
in wooly words.
Word again
repeated hotly
sells itself
cut rate.
Room’s corner
unexamined
collects the un-
swept meanings.
Old ears hear
on the floor there
dust of dialogue
avoiding clarity.
The child me
would have sat there
with a blanket
finger in it.
Can’t be good
or understood
too far gone
for my millstone.
Vocable dross
lightly refused
clings like web
dingy as love.
Were it true
I would be there
I am not
it is not.
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Nice write your vocab has definetly grown since you began writing. 5/5
Thanks. In some poems, vocabulary is big, in some poems, not. I began writing over half a century ago, and so there is a lot of vocabulary to pull from. all the best.