You know the thing about which no one cares
enough to even disagree with you.
Your lover left, bored silly. Your cat too.
Each night when you come home, you trudge upstairs

Lie, with the fact half-warming you in bed.
Sometimes you doubt it, have to lie awake
proving it in your head. Your heart would break
by now, if it weren’t true. The books you’ve read.

The documents you’ve studied led you here
to this conviction. Though the fact is small.
It’s perfect. And nobody cares at all.
One day quite soon, you’ll speak it. They’ll all fear

the way their world will crumble at the touch
of something they thought did not matter much.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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3 Responses to

  1. lyonesse says:

    great poem! i am irresistably reminded of my doctoral dissertation 🙂

  2. Very sharp: thank you.

  3. hamsterine says:

    Very true 🙂

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