it might be easier like this. lull, time, old notions. i
tell stories, not for any kind of living - save a richer
internal monologue - but, instead, to know that our
thoughts suffice to change the world around us. to
weave fiction so tightly into the earth, that it cannot
help but become truth. the longest story, the one i
could never put down, will always unfold:
most of the time, it was dark. without corners
to sweep this dark into, the world decayed into
modes of static blips. fumbled sparks, outside,
where i felt lawn between my toes, but knew not
of collections of blades. cold, a shade merged with
the remaining ripples. its exterior product, a
binding over my skin. one often knows not that,
sometimes, they cast their own snares (wrote that
a while ago, though. my own cruel traps.), and
sit and wonder who was so thoughtless as to
leave them out. dream of wakefulness. spend
days without movement, spent-up significance.
and there i was, collection of nested shells in the
backyard. concentric. so elated in the safety. my
sweet guardian, the embrace of stillness. left
wondering why i felt so alone, in crowded
hallways and streetlamps.
it was millenial, or epochal, sleep that kept me in there,
so long. the sparks spun under creation and annihilation.
and i, omniscient and blind, slunk out under a grin to
acknowledge the efforts. the pains of a sudden and bright
world. the fleeting hand of sweetness. and i stood, stone,
and knew to feed a fraction of it was only the more painful,
but that my crumbling surface was still too rough to give
it all away. always too early in the game. and i saw lakes,
from afar, and ached for all time, or just enough to lose
breath. i saw dazzling pinnacles and wished i were the
rain, for at least when water freezes, it is beautiful-
not chaotic and terrified. i had no facade of ice, though.
through to the roots, i was always
the same as the sun;
fissuring warmth, upon small bands.
it was just a single sliver of all time that
split every wall, though. i was at rest,
as eternal. the sound was impetuous, yet
left a permanent ring in my unfurling ears:
i heard your song. heard it ring out, forever.
awash with new & unfound oceans, i stretched
my wingspan wide and tugged at the seams
in the wallpaper. i pled, and cried out to
this new universe. to have known everything,
but only of a tiny & compact void. and, then,
i understood the shade. with bright light,
we see into darkened corners. the world is
a slipping tether.
i hold my eye up close, to the window,
and now know the majesty of my
so-called eternity was a ripple in a
footpath puddle. i grasp at the cracks
in the walls. i tear at them 'til my hands
bleed. i am but a small bird, stuck in
a nest of my own construction. but, i
have plans. but, i'm learning to fly, to
get back to the great glowing
shine, up above:
to bring back all the warmth, and lay, gently,
by your side, in new nest; this vast world,
and to never stop humming.
