I’ve been burglarized — 
not my house, my Self.
This dwelling has been
ransacked. Even after
a full inventory, I can feel
new empty space and 
have no idea what was once
there. I just know I was stronger
with it, whatever it was, and now
I’m constantly seeking it
or some reminder of what it is
or was — some trace of it
left in the wiring of
my sad electricity, my 
heartbroken pipes,
my grimy corners,
the unfamiliar tracks
in the dust of the bedroom floor.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

One response to “Burglarized

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