Pocket Full of Sand

By: S. DiSparti

What are you waiting for? You

Who stares blankly into that wide-

Eyed glass that you know

So well, yet can’t tell if he

Sees you or not…

Or maybe.

Knows the dark that swirls,

Curls about your foggy

Eyes, he does not ever

Remember how or why.

He watches you spit,

Spill, and shit time and

Time again. A  mis-

Fit that squanders the day

Away bit, by bit, by bit,

It dwindles.  He stares

Far into you and pulls

All that you ever were,

‘Ver are and ever will be.

He is repulsed and pleased.

Seized raw and ugly,

Laughing with a frown

Down his face.  He cries

Wide with a smile.

You see the stranger transfixed

Betwixt the mirror and you.

Is it you?  Was it you?

You can’t say.  Glutt’nous,

Gutless each and every

Way.  He holds narcissus

In a glass, drinking deeply

The sweet nectar of our past.

You peel back the drooping flap

Of wrinkled sin upon your brow,

Blowing the dust of memories.

Memories that would’ve been,

That should’ve been,

That could’ve been.

They scatter, shatter-

Ing pieces upon the floor, fad-

Ing as the evanescent

Wind carries a pocket

Full of sand.

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