Saturday, March 21, 2020

Rp Verlaine writes

The Bandits 
Ask me again knowing I will come.
Are wise to give naught in return
taking hours that only
seem free.
They steal the currency
I can never keep.
They take the clothes
I've never worn
and borrow books with their
return much in doubt
and yet I'm glad
to see them
out from my self imposed prison
and near monastic practices
I've talked myself into.
These bandits
I come to them with hands in the air.

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