On Lost Truth
Silt in memory,
rubbish
pile to sift through,
weights heavy with worse desires,
same circle drawn in place;
No longer one,
lost heart,
wasting water, air, time with
pre-drawn places, stopping
Distance. Wished
for greater stature
life, found it wanting, found it
misplaced and bedridden with
Murky calling
of mystic charlatans,
words I cannot recall from lacking
state. Feel no longer embers,
Only coal dust,
sweeping wounds;
I am not afraid to vanish,
just to break the waves,
Like cries from
an orchestra pit
(drip sweat down forehead, lip
wince), calls for warmth.
I am afraid of
not enough,
in these bones to bury them
aloft, highly favoured in places
hallowed.
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