Poem: My Devine Vacancy

  

I want to stand upon my own two feet, it’ll take weeks, months,
bottom, rock

ditch – problem is

I want you and autumn alone to meet

When those lakes speak, shovels

rushing – bodies,

The skyline tipped,

No longer are there hellos,

but good nights and sleep tights

– my strength is not in mellow

– my weakness is in what’s right,

If I am just a man, woman,

Then I am just a plan that’s far gone,

Further enriched by the forestry of my eventual grave and the days awakening next to your face,

Those eyes a river, pulling me away into skylines I’ve never flown, 

Into lakes surrounded by wrinkly mountains and coyote bedding,

You are my bed, I sleep upon your clothing,

I dream about your 

– I dream about you

The real world is a plaything without

and I am a toy thrown into a box,

Made from the wood upon that forestry,

letters, not

help – problem is

there’s a problem to begin with,

Always is, Missus Where-do-I-begin

– My tears travel farther than my mind can race,

– My years battled were harder than this,

traversing terrain filled with male not-so role models and female friendships,

I know not to blame my parentage 

– My present is nonexistence

My future is – I miss it

Already already already

If I close my eyes, there you are;

If I hold my breath, I taste yours;

Midnight mixed with sweet and sour, my favorite flavor of every hour,

I will wait these days and weeks and months, these years,

grain, stand

chirping – problem is

I want you beside the colors of every season,  for until then I will stand upon my own two feet,

Until we meet again, for then we’ll have four feet to help us stand and then 

– oh, my my 

– oh, my my


Above Photo courtesy of Sarahann Walker

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