by Robert Villanueva

Since I have no use for love
I’ve closed myself up tight.
The shuttered attic up above
does not let in the light.

All the windows have been latched;
I’ve drawn the shades as well.
The fragile glass has gone unscratched
as far as I can tell.

Never do I answer knocks
that sound at my front door.
The portal has so many locks
it’s not used anymore.

Still, I find, without a doubt,
my foe’s like oxygen:
despite attempts to keep it out,
the damned thing still gets in.

© 2008 by Robert Villanueva




About the Author

Robert Villanueva is an award-winning Kentucky writer whose short stories, poetry and essays have appeared in numerous print and online magazines. Some of those publications include Trillium Literary Journal, GlassFire Anthology, The Sylvan Echo, The Cherry Blossom Review, Contemporary Rhyme, The Flask Review, Flutter Poetry Journal, The Summerset Review, The Square Table and The Heartland Review. Forthcoming publications include The Binnacle and Cantaraville. In addition to a novel, Robert is working on a collection of interrelated short stories. His website is kybard660.tripod.com and includes links to more of his writing.


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