the least push of Joy...

Forgot I had written this, some years ago. It's full of allusions to my favorite poems.

shattered stance, blurry sway
like green winding through the cracks
creeping ever upwards
steady now
i grab tiny fistfuls of thought
whenever i'm not being grabbed
and pulled like taffy where they want me to
into what they need
what do you need
can i help you
who will help me
i can take those
as if those stained and empty pages
those scratched and dirty discs
are gifts
and i just must have them
or i could die
i'm wading through coffee spoons
i am lazarus still sleeping

unable to wake
no way to do so
i am on the side of the dark road
waiting to be rolled into the
they can't feel the red pulse inside
the ringing
it must be answered
it simply must

as it always has been
no one cares to measure my grief
or wonder how hard i have to try
the coffee tastes the same
the spoons are cold

and rusting slowly
the floors are broken cups
tea is over
and will begin again tomorrow
what if i could ask you

where did your soul go?
oh to tell you all
i don't care
i pull precious threads of life
from pages when they can't
see me
great thoughts allowed to flow and go
towards some inevitable conclusion
long ago when some stopped to listen
i am trying to stop
if not in snowy woods then HERE
in this skin
for a moment
just a moment please
let me think
the legacies of my kin
and the bliss of art
cushion me from this appalling lack
let me wrap the words tightly around me
wind them around me so
you can't get in
so i can perform for you once again
so i can live with my liar's voice
and my whore's soul
i am lulled to sleep by the
dishwasher's roar
i am locked inside the lecture hall
and the stars have never been further away

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