3/22
In this corner you might find:
a yellow butterfly,
floating Styrofoam pieces,
a stabbing ache,
newborn somethings beginning to unwind
broken glasses on the ground
I'm sorry.
Faint music lost,
just enough smoke to blink again,
Crumpled notes of remembrance found.
Where the lines come together
seems smooth to touch-
a crease.
But closer eye can see
a slight jagged slit, thin as a feather.
Is it dark and vast
or brightly acute?
Pulling apart these solid sides
or eyes squinting focus
will never grant reach to what's past.
Because beyond is unknown
This corner stands alone.
or does it?
can it?
It's own existence can't be on its own.
Each length connects to elsewhere.
To somewhere- something- someone
To touch an else.
Stretching- stretching up, out, down, away!
The pulling, pushing- anywhere but here.
But the core, the crevice, the corner
is here, folding in.
Pulling back to the unanswerable opening.
contradicting the outward scream,
calmly beckoning a place of center.
My corner speaks this strain:
hair ripping reach for another.
Get out! But wait,
there, see that yellow butterfly
slip through into the great remain.
In this corner you might find:
a yellow butterfly,
floating Styrofoam pieces,
a stabbing ache,
newborn somethings beginning to unwind
broken glasses on the ground
I'm sorry.
Faint music lost,
just enough smoke to blink again,
Crumpled notes of remembrance found.
Where the lines come together
seems smooth to touch-
a crease.
But closer eye can see
a slight jagged slit, thin as a feather.
Is it dark and vast
or brightly acute?
Pulling apart these solid sides
or eyes squinting focus
will never grant reach to what's past.
Because beyond is unknown
This corner stands alone.
or does it?
can it?
It's own existence can't be on its own.
Each length connects to elsewhere.
To somewhere- something- someone
To touch an else.
Stretching- stretching up, out, down, away!
The pulling, pushing- anywhere but here.
But the core, the crevice, the corner
is here, folding in.
Pulling back to the unanswerable opening.
contradicting the outward scream,
calmly beckoning a place of center.
My corner speaks this strain:
hair ripping reach for another.
Get out! But wait,
there, see that yellow butterfly
slip through into the great remain.
Comments
Post a Comment