Upon a Shelf

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I can’t write of love
love claws at itself from inside graves
graves of hope had blossomed once
once, I held a basket of leaves
leaves . . . he leaves, her heart in the dirt—I left
left the material dust-grains of expectation
expectation kills the present and drowns the life
life has only to be lived
lived in and worn and broken
broken, tattered dreams
dreams, I can’t write of—love

© Grace Black


The October Poetry Journey continues… #OctPoWriMo with Loop poetry.

Today is Day 20 of OctPoWriMo  join me, 31 poems in 31 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 31 in 31!

Love and Ink,


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