Sunday, December 17

this is no trade

when i sail in,
the air thickly in the arches of my shoes,
springish air- only
to move quickly-
to lose

when i sail in
eyes brink with red
& with a dragging heart
i clean out my bed

& with humble hands
i hide my hair
i said--
it's a scary world out there

while i may be some fragile thing
i will pile up my plate;
hide my little ribs,
bury bitter hate- show through hell
(if i will not wait) - to say farewell
or go well off. some postal splatter!
i can't admit it doesn't matter-
i never feel safe.

some girls show their bones; a sign of
loneliness, or devotion- i devour
emptiness (become the ocean)
but better yet- remember
me, for more than what i weighed--
lady- admit-
this is no trade

(oh, when i sail in,
mouth filled with providence;
oh, when i sail in,
wings blue with sheer!
flying faster-
feeling vaster than last year!)
consider this your warning:
i will not be here.

no, not still staring
at some silence, which tore me:
and still i wait- for something-
done to me, or done for me. (!) --since it began--
...i don't know.
if this can't save me,
nothing can-- i have to go--
it's getting late.
i have to go- rather-
you should go- (i know
that you'd be glad to go,
i should be glad to have you go.)

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