It is short
but intense.
A deep
prod lingering
just long enough 
to increase your wonder
at how little
you really know
about what
you are capable
of feeling. 
When it happens
the air you’ve
been breathing
all along suddenly
tastes like
animal spirit, 
ghost. You sit up
straight looking for
some explanation
or at least for some
elder to interpret
but they all vanished
long ago and you
will have to fashion
the meaning of this
into a framework
for the remainder
of your time
all on your own. 
Whatever the rules
are from this point on
you won’t know 
until you break them,
the taste in your mouth
growing stronger
with every breach
until a longing like
cinnamon swirling
inside is all, is

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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