capture what evades the page
a phrase
raised again and again
the pitch rising
the stress of your diaphragm
gives physicality
I cannot.
I am confined to this leaf
for to write a feeling
is to contain it,
and to sing it,
shines iridescent
makes it seem
worth something more
than an off-hand scribble,
crumpled paper, folded twice.
Shall I put it in your pocket, or throw it out
forever lost?
I cry, so hard, but to you it’s all pretend.
No comments:
Post a Comment