a waffle
in your words
a wobble in your
eyes
a worm on your lips
an egg on your
face
episodes
where your heart
appears on your sleeve
available online
now
a consensus
and a rabble
of brooding
a thing you are not
a demand for you to be someone
you’re not
a role you were made to play
lingering doubts
and a ferocious hunger
for you
not for your blood
but for you
nothing there for them
but you’re going to give it to them
if you have to create it
These last few days,
this shrinking light —
the calendar promising
an end soon
to a year that seemed long
before it was near its end —
and the start of a new one.
I close my eyes
expecting no closure
from an arbitrary number
on a piece of paper,
weary of the trudging progress
that got me here.
No, I’m a bird tonight,
in accord with more certain rhythms
that will lead to renaissance,
planning to fly home
when the right moment finally comes
no matter the date,
expecting to soar
and circle, then begin the direct route
to a resting place,
a place I’ll know in my hollow bones
when I get there.
Dark Matter 