"In a room where the truth naked, shining"
The body wishing to break
but cannot still in fragile pace
stringing defeat so sure in the air
and rising from salvaged metal
compressing everything to scrap;
Every single one mum as water in basin --
I am akin to all their silences.
What language could run its smoothness
if not the same voice relishing in the beginning,
drawing this reticence much more immense,
commensurate if not death in the afternoon?
From this room there is the disquiet
taking form, the symmetry of a knife,
crushed deep within my plight
of wanton need. The night's meaning reduced
to a stockpile of laundry soiled from yesterday's
scuffle, the same metronomic sound of
the world dropping from a high place,
my hands dreading the catch from the fall.
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
"In a room where the truth naked, shining"
The body wishing to break
but cannot still in fragile pace
stringing defeat so sure in the air
and rising from salvaged metal
compressing everything to scrap;
Every single one mum as water in basin --
I am akin to all their silences.
What language could run its smoothness
if not the same voice relishing in the beginning,
drawing this reticence much more immense,
commensurate if not death in the afternoon?
From this room there is the disquiet
taking form, the symmetry of a knife,
crushed deep within my plight
of wanton need. The night's meaning reduced
to a stockpile of laundry soiled from yesterday's
scuffle, the same metronomic sound of
the world dropping from a high place,
my hands dreading the catch from the fall.
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