PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

in between the last letter and the next line

i see a thousand unsaid words bursting with color

and blood

i only know myself, a thousand miles of myself,

a thousand swords and a thousand words

and in my face in the mirror

a thousand corners

hallways stretching into hallways into rooms with no ceilings

i am locked inside and also everywhere 

and in you also cells that fold back into cells

of your father and a people that wandered the earth

with no shoes and a biological drive for food

you are screaming in front of me with anger but

you are also somewhere inside, a child,

looking out of the window of your eyes

i am sorry i have allowed myself to become

abstract, disappated into atoms that lie

upon atoms that lie upon staircase rails

in a myriad of countries

i am not the me i was a moment ago nor the me

i will be in moments

but what is the smallest splice of a moment?

am i ever still?

you see this poem is not a song it is not an elegy

it is not a lament it is not to be mourned

now i am not for you i am not possible

i would live in a beautiful cascade of words that mean nothing

so far away from the body that moves cooks speaks works

i allow images of the earth seen from the atmosphere

to traverse across my closed eyelids before i sleep

and while i sleep the dead whisper to me secrets of themselves

which upon waking are in another language

there is nothing to be saved from and no one to save

i locked the door i walked into and the next and the next and the next

all i ever end up writing is please stay away from me

if you touched me

like jenga pieces i would crumble

and all the parts of me that are held by the carress of large spaces

of fast forward stop motion sunsets

and the idea they sold me of an infinite expanding universe

would fall apart

i ask you to allow me to stay there

where i am and where i will be 

expanding into nothingness

i no longer write for you nor for me, i barely write

now i have become a thousand images a thousand words unsaid

a thousand mornings that rose and fell like my body

between me and the day, me and the world outside my room

the child inside me looking out the window of my eyes