Milk Rocks

By 1985 he had a Master as

Reaganomics poisoned his laughter.

White rocks buried our relationship:

I’m still searching for that memory of his last glance.

I was tangled in this dance,

Perhaps now his Master controls me.

The space left in his absence stings hollow.

Is our separation mere illusion,

there’s a mournful comfort in this confusion.

Baggies trail behind like breadcrumbs:

they’re the gatekeepers of You.

Milk dust lined on a mirror,

Each of your blows must reveal a clue.

But to one question I still succumb:

Is there an answer to Abandonment.

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