I live in a soft grey
Tiny fingers
Reaching
Holding, and ice
Fills my mouth.
I can breathe.
I float in and out
Of blinking
Fettered to the
Cycles-
Eyes made of feathers
(The color of bricks)
Twitch on the ground
Beside me and
I am happy.
The music box
I swallowed
Seems mechanical,
But it's not
And maybe the answer
Really is seven letters long
On a perfect scrap of paper
From the hands of
A man who
Might know best.
Questions
Fract-
ions
Simple.
But the reaction was
instant,
Lots wife-
when I thought
That I
had so much control
Why does my mouth
Form that word,
Never any other
and
Why does my mind trick me
Into thinking
blue
Is the color of healing.
I guess
if I really wanted
To know
I'd use proper
Punctuation
I guess
If I really wanted
the sun,
I'd stop praying for
Clouds that have
Perfect
empty
Bones
I'm drawn out
From slight intentions
And pencil shades
Fade with time.
I guess dormant ticking
Is the easiest thing
To smile with,
when you're folded
Flat
On paper
And you can't remember
Anything but
The soft static
Of cotton-spun
Spoons.
lemme know what you think.
Comments
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XD cotton spun spoons!!! im gonna remember that on. its funny, i just read a poem of helen's and told her how it was like a very different frequency of my emotional storm at holding on and letting go, a better calm acceptance... and now this.. it is good to read us all again, at least for me. this is a further shift or maybe closer to me.. i dont know.. its like when you deepen the resonance it becomes mellower yet all the more powerful.. truly beautiful for me to be able to see for apreciation not only the storm, or raging ocean, but the drip-drop of the ever falling rain that slowly washes all to gray.
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this could've went on forever and it still wouldn't have been long enough. I really love reading through your words, it's like a scenic trip down vocabulary lane each and every time.
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