The Dark Arts

Broken pieces

I don’t have to keep them

To sweep them off in circles

Display them around in my living room

To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left

A barnacle shell and a half used film

Marrow of bone and a picture I drew that I gave to no one

There was no one I knew to give it to

The dark arts of preservation

The mottled collection of displacement

To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left

You know, you remind me of a boy I once knew?

Days comes and it all feels so different, it’s like dust in my hair

Day comes and I walk outside and back, so dissatisfied

Day comes and it’s all so clear to me - it’s so dear to me

When day comes - that I will be standing here mending all of it

The dark arts of preservation

The mottled collection of displacement

To love them is to know how it feels to be lost and to be left

You know, you remind me of a boy I once knew?