London Poem: Day 190

23 February

We all have pain, hanging casually
On sunken faces, or digging in deep beneath
Knowing’s knowledge.
Who weighs such unknowable measures,
Cross-hatched and unbearably covering all of us
In varying shades?
To say, what color is brighter,
Which has wider markings
Removes the fleeting reality
That it’s painted on all of us
Choose and remove,
It is always pain,
But, subtracted, is the happiness
By which We gauge the pain
We measure side by side,
End to end.

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In flux

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