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Ellie Belanger Jul 2018
When my poetry becomes water
You become sand
Ebbing it’s flow
Before allowing it to sink deep inside of you
Slowly rolling you forward and backward with the words
Which will make you smaller with time
Until you, too
Become my poetry
Become my water
Ellie Belanger Jul 2018
Every age just a page
In a book constantly rewriting itself.
There’s no mystery in this history,
Just matter beating out and in
Out and in out and in
Again again again again
You can say we’re stardust
Yes, we are,
In small quantities hidden deep in our physical, chemical, biological make-up
A construction of borrowed elements,
Remembering all time like elephants,
Suffering changes in their outer shells, to change and to scatter and one day
Become else

You see
Matter cannot be created or destroyed
But it can redeployed
In the key of B
In a wave of energy, bright and slow at first
Then fast as a rocket ship
Fast as a wormhole
Fast as light, then faster
Ripping itself apart as it stretches
Telling stories all the while.
Every age
Just a page
In a book the constantly rewrites itself.
Every deja vu
An old you
And a decision to make-
Though you may be the same matter as before and maybe after-
A glimpse into a past past
Can make all the difference in the future future
Of a book
That never ends
And never begins
But simply
Rewrites itself
Again again again again
Ellie Belanger Nov 2017
between two things which make sense, in and of themselves.
The hollow space between makes little sense.
That is why it is hollow.
Ellie Belanger Nov 2017
Tonight I will do many various things;
I will fold warm laundry
And go eat tacos with a friend of a friend.
I will drink a beer and go drive
my sad and rickety car.
I will scream your name
When I am meant to
Somewhere deep in a song
Because my soul is aching,
Pouring forth always for the hope of love
Like the love I feel for you.

Tonight I will do many various things.
But I will not stop loving you.
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
The lines of distinction wear thin.
Where does the wave of influence stop and I begin
and where does my own wave begin,
what shore does it hit?
"No man is an island"
said Jon Bon Jovi, in a dream
illustrated by Nick Hornby.
I am no island.
I am no man.
Where does the string end and begin?
everything tangled up in fruitless plans
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
my cry for help
Sounds like
muffled sobs
against sweat-stained

it's hard to root out
Against the click and hum
of the dripping mini-fridge
And the bursts of barking laughter
from downstairs.
Ellie Belanger Oct 2017
Poetry is
You never read a poem
filled with middleness.
Even a poem about a
ham sandwich
is either passionately for
or against.
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