losing words,
running into time, listening to what’s said. I dance with falcons, I whisper
with owls, I pay closer attention. I rewound my watch, seconds ticking,
existence has a science to it. absorbing timetables, knitting addition,
becoming more concrete. I read her pages, the walk seems simplistic, we know
differently. a higher entrance, like eyes watering, another gets a similar
feeling. too much an impasse, sharing ashes, the lyric me mourns in narrative.
aside a phantom,
let’s be clear, the phantom is the uneasiness—traveling with me, nudging me,
arguing me into damn near nameless.
I both love and
dislike dreaming, heart-lamp heavy, healing seems consecutive—more a routine, a
habit, so little was said in so much. I vanished, years reading, never knew
what I participated in—streetlamps, bleeding, four pounds for sadness.
I love my people,
deserving more, as of now, strategy has ruled us.
a whit abstract—speaking
to my soul—gaining knowledge—all the Greats were captured by soul; maybe in
love, to catch heartbeats, pushing through me—long live the Fire!
literature became
logs. fame became motive. “I love you,” became intricate. I must live, it looked
like living, I need more, if to gain entrance.
it shall hurt,
trying so hard, denied access; people work diligently, become upper echelon, no
one gives that away.
