Two Game by David Dumouriez

Brief middle of two looming voids comes life:

a light-in-dark too dim to see by.

Peer unblinkingly – or don’t –

no shapes will come, no shades reveal themselves.

Locate what’s best, what’s open only.

Make a vital construct out of flesh.

Glory, earthly, unto death. (Can’t care after!)

Look to love yourself at a remove.

Want. 

	Want. 

		Want. 

Try. 

	Try. 

		Try.

Breath gone. Energy, capacity, is lost.

Trust others to confuse what could be theirs.

About the Poet:

David Dumouriez was born, has lived a bit, and will probably die.