eternity,
shakespeare
promise me eternity.
tolstoy hold my quaking soul
and forgive me in the way you could never
forgive anna,
dostoyevsky touch my arm
and tell me raskolnikov was god in his way;
woolf tell me i may have a room of my own.
don't you know?
i would yearn
and ache
and sing,e handedly tear my atoms
into shreds
to find my poems.
they are lost
and longing and calling
and i can hear them like
a
mother hears her child.
momentary flashes like
noah's burning bush arriving
in sparks and wisps of smoke.
in some divine ordinance
everything happens absolutely everything
happens to me.
yet i claw
and tear pillowcases to shreds
to find poems
caught like bullets in my teeth;
to find metaphors wrapped
like planets around my fingers.
gravity, sweetheart,
i don't understand you,
but i thank you everyday for not letting
me float away through my skylight
as i sleep.
what would i do if i woke up among stars?
perhaps turn back to sleep and welcome myself home.
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