unpacking

Originally posted on Etches of Ink and Light:
the old friend comes helps unpack fold by fold decades stacked in cases smelling of mothballs until there’s nothing left to pack again and in one evening i learn to depart without arriving

I feel all alone sometimes like I couldn’t have done better I feel my openness and niceness elicits an illicit response; like poison vine strangling the branch I wanna slash it off with scissors and swords and a shield like a rosary – transformed to the comet of yore.