Monologue Inside a Room That Isn’t a Room
Forgive me, Lord, vagrant always in my own sinful science.
I was an ellipsis, black & bare, but now I am a bold asterisk.
Animal me, I antelope through the forest of my own fears,
every tree an ache thrilled by a vigil of disasters & dystopias.
I wanted to build an ark where all things come to repose,
even this black owl nestled behind my heart, its dark wings
grazing against each arrhythmia. I will not mourn here to-
night where this darkness has a cat’s eye, where my shadow
betrays me. There’s always a thirst in the river’s throat, but
how'd i know, the canoe of me upturned — a wet disaster.
Mortal me a metaphor: I escaped every death with a new
sobriquet for life. Unlike visions, in dreams I am this closer
to death — a field fled towards a furnace. Verb me a verb:
Survive. Surrender. Succeed. Sanctify. Surmount. Save. Slit.
Seen. I drove this far into life dreaming the lives of doves,
O, the table-wide wings of freedom. Tbh, I ate my own fear
& woke up a wanting. They say the day unfurls the best of us
— they fail to see the ashes sprouting inside our footprints.
I imagine loss is so wide & wild, even the sky sometimes
takes the structure of a shapeless coffin. It’s not too late, dear,
to heal anyone — but even these scars sometimes are a defense.
I’m kneeling inside myself — a museum modeled after a plea;
when the light comes, may it find me hungry — a lone heart.
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