it is a heart
that wants to close
a door
but i open it just
the same
for some verification
it was not all happiness
there is still pain
a pain that you cannot
name or cannot speak about
no one this time wants to
look at each other
as one cleans the house as
one begins to write
trying to capture what moment
was that
asking will it be a memory
or will it be another subject
to talk about in Freud’s sofa
or just another kind of Bernstein…
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