you are
my broken down train
stuck in a tube
my mucked up plan
my dirty clothes
my flash in the hand
to this same fold
my panic attack
my broken fool
the wrong number dialled
twice in a row
you told me so
to this same fold
Hear the talk it’s sweeter
Don’t let it show
Play the part it’s cleaner
Move to where the air is not sold
my stolen face
an empty place
the break in my mold
the lock in my back
from your hold
to this same fold
originally a poem 'You Are'
by Gail Wylie