What Goes Around…

Clapton’s first three chords,

 his last three chords,

 my words have done the same

 

Verses once muddled,

distant and skewed,

now thunder down like rain

 

The syllables left

are short and pointed,

their edges razor sharp

 

To cut the remaining

clinging vines

—setting fire to the dark

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2020)

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