Unfinished

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Unfinished

I am grown weary of these boys who break us,

of burnt fingers from hot coffee

and not quite enough substance to the cup.

I am grown tired of these days that crack us,

of bones knocked brittle

by the wear and tear of an all-too-ordinary misery.

I am grown numb from this buzzing in the background

of all the past little onslaughts

that have left us printed with the ink of yesterday’s news.

Filed under: Poems