i lack the skill
to fix it.
it was supposed to
give hope
to rally our hearts.
make our souls leap
from the prison
of our ribs.
but it never will now
as broken as it is
as inept
as i am.
and even if i wrote
to perfection
what would you do?
melt your jewelry down,
form a golden calf
with which to greet me
as i came down
the mountain?
Kaplowitz has several poetry pieces published here and there. He is currently working toward a degree of some sort at a community college where little is expected of him. In his spare time Kaplowitz enjoys outlaw country music, pro wrestling, wool socks and eating chili straight from the can. He currently lives in the Pacific Northwest where it rains almost constantly. Visit his online home.
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1 comment:
Ironic
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