looking at his
hands he wonders
walking
backwards through time
in order to
look more carefully
at where he’s
gone wrong
in the past and
how the present
can be
stretched out endlessly
arms between
two trees
balancing
somehow on a tight rope
still swaying
at times trying
to avoid
another fall through
knowing he has
a better outlook
this time
looking back at his hands again
he remembers
touching the face of beauty
with hands now
flat on the table
and a fiend he
might be
but not for
what you might expect…
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