Last Place I Looked
There as always: frustration bubbling
over like overcooked oatmeal,
lies the object of my search,
perched and willing my anger
to have another look,
stuffed into a corner, smiling its innocence.
Intolerable denial,
in the last place I looked.
Having its way with me
again, like some worn out hooker on
Johnson street, assembled together,
without instruction,
hidden from view
until that magical moment
time and space interact with relevance,
to appear from nowhere,
(and have the last laugh)
knowing a repeat performance is just
around any corner, like out of a book,
I re-search the area
knowing it can't be any further
than the last place I look.
No mystery is greater than
that which i undertook,
to understand the machinations,
searching,
the last place I looked.
I think they may be
in concert with the clothes dryer
whoever they are, wherever they live,
they always show up
in the last place I look
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