weekend poem #3
how to learn yourself over and over!
In my bed where I am still learning how to lay: My back down, eyes closed: My arms raised perpendicularly above me: I twist my already cracking fingers to create an orb between them: Untouching each other: We hang in the air, my hands and this precious: There is nothing to do with this light but know that it is mine: In my bed that squeaks upon arrival and every turn in the night
What you didn’t realize is that: While all that time was running out: You were learning a person: From the instances you thought to be fleeting: You absorbed all the more: Because you welcomed the fleeting: You worried whether you’d retain your memories: And it was worth it: Adrenaline allowing for conjuncting senses: Turning them to impenetrable playbooks
I know what it’s like to come down from the high horse: Of thinking you’re being thought about more than you are: I am humbled in remembering that sometimes: Imagination exists only to serve itself: No stage no seatbelt validates: The wind that lives within: You felt the feeling: And that is the point
It’s fulfilling because: It’s a prophecy: A matter of getting unstuck: A matter of getting fucked: As the bus passes me again: As I sigh to say it always does: To a new chapter of walking: To my home from the train
