the dead

silence settles into our corners
like cobwebs’ useless remnants
of spider’s snares abandoned into
the day’s conversational scraps we
wear to maintain some sense of warmth
together we tend our own hopes
twined toward some other sun
than the one each of us can see
with our clotted myopic eyes
upon waking into this complicit lie
resentment lies like the dead
barely buried beneath half-smiles
and small talk it waits to rise
untroubled to its cold rampages
through the house we built from guilt
(September 1,2013)

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