Francesca Aspromonte: The Fool

 

We fly away on a plane–
or sneak on dimly lit bus stops
Tickets ripped up
Dial tones, low buzzing
While we watch passengers, with shifty eyes and untapped potential
Knowing nowhere is home
Dedicated to melodramatic goodbyes
Or written letters that will never get sent for lack of real planning
Skewed view of ourselves, we part
Or run, depending on who is telling the story

But morning came, spent in silent obsession and more unplanned delays
I had missed the boat
Or more fittingly capsized

Mid thrust

Turned off by the buzzing coming from the refrigerator
Or was that the alarm clock?
I never was good at telling time.
I glance out the window, and wait for you to reappear, on your giant white stallion
To save me from myself

Messy moments, these are my favorites.

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