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13 April 2012 @ 10:28 pm
i want to write a poem for you
and so of course my words
begin to feel
make a big jumble
and moan and all of a sudden
they are old, creaking up the stairs
muttering about crazy youth
and energy and the tonic
of a good sleep.

and now i am left alone
with you.

it is almost like
i can make a beginning of it,
let the structure unravel,
dig around in the unraveling
and it isn't hard to pretend
there still might be
firming up the chaos,
hiding in plain sight
this whole time.

the words aren't going
to let themselves go,
but i know they are just nervous.
all the things they've seen in this world
and they still can't describe