Sunday, September 30, 2018

Jack Scott writes

Into Exile, Unto Home

A shiver in this tropic. 

A splinter in this flesh. 
If I could remain, 
I’d heal, be free. 
Not up to me. 
The draft from wallet 
chills and begs 
(no beggar's ever free). 
And so from faraway 
I go 
into exile 
unto home

Pulling out the Splinter
Pulling out the Splinter -- John Joseph Enneking

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