by Billy Hands

There is no reason to accept
what I’m about to say,
but everything was fine
until it wasn’t.

Excuse number two
was a close second
behind the sea-stacks
and the rocky beaches.

Now that we’ve gotten that
out of the way
I can bury the last
six months in the sand.

Timelessness is fueled by hope
and the fear of death.
I hide shifting in mood,
then make a career of it.

We hunt for tomorrow
and in tomorrow softly caress a promise.
Look to the left
and the images aren’t real.

This is the weather
my father hated.

Billy Hands
Billy Hands of Orient is the Poetry Editor for the East End Beacon, amongst many other talents. Look for his new chapbook, “Documenting The Future,” from Hillcrest Publications this summer.

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