You, Conduit

To pretend to be
an atheist and still believe
in guardian angels is 

this house
where I live with blinds
closed tight. To profess to live 

in solitude by choice
while scars of loneliness tattoo
my legs, my soul, is 

to give loners
a bad name, is to let myself
down root 

cellar stairs into a leaky chamber
where only humans go.

2 thoughts on “You, Conduit

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