Leveler Poetry Journal
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A threadbare sheet, a face

to kiss upon

casually as windowed glance

checking for rain


do not feel yours.


During sleep-laden hours reaching

for an empty glass


or light left burning, feeling

muscles perform


differently with age,

you cannot doubt the veracity of your failure


nor question, when removing night moths

windowsill’d looking


to a garden all-animal’d and sunlit,

the once-possible,


like hunting

mammoths w/ fist


-sized rocks.  You again

press wall to hand,


pine for the world to lie

across your bed, and mouth


you’ll not need to

feign interest


for what will be done.

Aaron Plasek