Sunday, November 24, 2013

Handheld


Everything is shared.

The lump in the throat
The bruise on your crushed face
The echo in your belly
The lines of prophecy on your hands

Everything is shared.

The simmering question that drove you into this alley
The doubt that you will ever be known
The childhood knowledge that you could run on air, through treetops
Tender things your father never said

Everything is shared.

Days sinking into white hot sand
Steel-spined walls keeping you locked in step
Your endless loss of blood and breath
Each undisclosed transfusion that brings you back from the edge

Everything is shared.

Afternoon, midnight, fracture-just-before-dawn fears that paralyze
Nameless desire that sinks you to the bottom of a well that draws fire from deep below
The framework of sorrow that breaks your bones one by one, daring you to want anything again
Other dangerous abstractions like hope

Everything is shared.

The fibers of your food, your absent shelter
Strange rain that keeps you alive long after you’ve quit caring
Light that shows you a picture of your secret heart spread across magazine pages
The static, the spaces, invisible frequencies surrounding your odd voice with compassion

Everything is shared.

Words that break open a cell, a rock, a tinderbox full of flint and fire
Keys to the codes that can’t be cracked in a single language
Microscopic movements collaborating in a long play of intricate foreshadowing
The building blocks of an apocalypse, of resurrection that would astound you

Everything is shared.

Your heart of ashes and feathers; part coal, part glint of wondrous stone
Your heart a planet; moving waters, hovering spirit, unrelenting green
Your heart the quark and the atom; your heart dark matter
Your heart breaking atmosphere; your heart a traveler

Everything is shared.

Everything is shared.












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