I laid my life before you like an open palm
So you can feel the pulsing blood in veins, like rivers,
And stroke the skin gone stiff from frost, like fields.
Mark each bruise and blister, each cut of kitchen knife –
Hills and ravines on the map of my life.
Hold my hand
Until you brave hot springs inside my sweaty palm
And scale the icy peak of every finger.
Let it go – but not so sudden.
Where you have been is best left out of reach,
Some scenes unseen, some roads untrodden.
So hold my hand and linger
And don't forget to fold it
Finger after finger.

Ever printed on my mind:
Eyebrows raised, lips open wide,
Eyes to calm a new-born child.

Not a crease on forehead spoke
Of disappointment, loss of hope
In me; all anger stayed inside.

I did not feel it. But I guessed it must be there,
As scientists who look at quiet brooks but know
Earth’s magma never ceases stirring deep below,
And how much strain her thin crust must endure
To keep us blissfully in ignorance secure.

My ego is like
a balloon:
easy to inflate
but sensitive to ******
from the dullest needle.
So hurry, before it’s too late:
pierce the nonexistent edges
of the infinitely expanding ballooniverse.

A cave was once my home.
A cozy cave and warm.
It size - a point of pride,
And all the things inside.

A stranger once arrived
Through doors I'd never seen
And bid me go outside
Where I had never been.

"There's nothing there," I told
Him. "Quit these hallowed halls
And leave me to behold
The grandeur of my walls."

Though I had closed the door
He came back more and more
Till I agreed to wait
And listen to his lore.

Soon after, in my dreams
I flew to lands he wist,
Imagining the things
I thought did not exist.

Till finally, in stealth,
I shuffled through the door,
Blinded by the wealth
The world had kept in store.

Now, with doors unfurled,
My cave seems small and plain.
Beyond it - is a world
Its walls cannot contain.