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Saturday, November 20, 2004

ode to virginia woolf

You put the rocks
In your pocket that morning
Walked away
From a life I can’t
Run from

Your insanity made you
Not insane
But brilliant
Your pain only realistic

I wonder if your hands
Moved restlessly
As restlessly as mine
If you too, were afraid of yourself
Too aware of time

Sometimes I see my eyes
And I know I must be mad
But Virginia
Is it that our eyes are open
And we’re only sad?
Too aware to walk on blind

When I see myself in you
There’s an edge to my flaws
My nervousness creative
My long boney fingers
Good for writing, always writing

Mrs Dalloway said
She’d get the flowers herself
I only went
To get groceries
But isolated in a city
All the same

You said you and your husband
Couldn't be happier
But you put the rocks
In your pocket Virginia
You walked into the river

When you're always on edge
Is happy
Not fulfilling?
Does love itself
Fade to black?

Mrs Dalloway said
She'd get the flowers herself
Are you envious
That for her
The morning was enough?


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