Poem: Vigilante Feedback

It could have been stigmata
or just simple lack of sleep

but I found it in a dictionary–
a different kind of justice,

watching me when I forgot to look.
Talk of vinyl siding and spare rooms
made my eyes throb and I couldn’t live

in a world full of porches, so
I made a choice and my ears rang

from somewhere else;
chosen, I kneeled down
to shattered glass–
some guardian’s answer to a question

I’d just decided not to ask.


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