Author Information
Must Spill Self
Pick up, wind of variance;
catch me and/or cradle as
I've fallen from these window ledges -
I had reached to catch a wing.
Yet I'd miss and toppled like
a half-discarded mandible,
still with clamps upon whomever
was sad for me and standing.
And I fear I'll hit the stones
flat upon the paving wastes,
shattered in a porcelain haze
with sound that rings for miles 'round.
I cannot say I fear the hurt or
the mess I'm bound to make below.
It's more about this feeling that
there's better words for using,
at least in some forgotten sense
that you had once possessed; but then
you had once been everything,
and yet here we have arrived.
