So much goes unseen, until seen.
A lie, like a teardrop goes there.
Like water through pipe.
Up street to spigot through duct till exposed.
And then to the drain.
And yet so much is to be seen yet again.
Like a bug killed by the love letter smeared
upon a mirror,
the bug maybe left up there by someone to see
some kind of reeled in fake love, an epiphany,
a suddenly seen lost love, no longer real,
like a marlin to remain eternally up from sea
to here. Like so much truth proposed,
only a crocodile tear. Not even a fish.
Just an empty carcass. Still here.
So many fish in the sea, yet hard to see
if you have to blink under water.
Let’s be real instead where we are, as we are.
Helps to breathe, so to be.

Published by Writing Knights Press, Grand Showcase, 2018

Written by Joe Bisicchia on 09/09/18
© 2018 Joe Bisicchia

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love, lost

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