The Poet Community

Sliding Scale | A Poem by JD DeHart

They have rules for this
sort of practice. But the
rules are out the window,
so there’s no phone call,
I don’t know where I stand,
a mind has been changed
mid-sequence. The insect
is half-formed, crawling
on the wall, not sure which
direction to travel in, its
feelers not yet finished;
I am not yet finished,
searching this same space
for a place to hang up my
coat, a modicum of silence.

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