“Neither alive or well today, a song I heard”
I had been here a hundred times,
hunched over letters, good omens to a mother- in the being
of all that can uncomfortably
sit under your solid(s)
moved around until the break
with the chronolgy of something specific
occurs with no regard for who you’ve been.
I wanted only air.
Or, if not that, I needed
to be believed, that this was
what had occured,
happened to me.
Sure, under-go transformation
until the skin of fruits are arbitrary encounters,
and no longer are you burdened
with the specific imperative to make sense.
I had hurt in such places
no measure could be taken
I only shuffled around rooms
closed doors until my mind
slept while I still could see
a faint and silent awe, give itself a lesson in grace,
the story is beginning to do different things
now I think I might need to as well.