physical pulse and poetic pulse combine
a hunger that hopes to reconcile
avoids articulation
but the feeling we know when struck by deliberate blow
as softly a loving knife comes not from behind
slits our throat
and born again because we learned to listen
dared to sweat while running scared to break
the nature of those who must burn to live
what makes the blood coil inside my chest
now i want to strike.
how i am stupid, made dumb by intensity
blurry, i don't want things
i am grabbing at someone, money is falling
i am reaching for some image never to be held
i can't swing without hitting myself
No comments:
Post a Comment