A broken bone
Is also new knowledge.
A bone is there that
Was not there before.
This knowledge is felt,
But it is not enjoyed.
I have stopped missing you.
Your stupid sadness, the
Nightmare that you wake up
Into each day. I understand
It. I know what it means
To shut your eyes and
Fall into quicksand,
Unable to breathe,
But also unable to die.
It is creative and it always
Feels new: the ways in which
We can collide into each
Other, or ourselves, and
Learn about our bodies.
I watched you yesterday,
No longer proud
Of yourself. A grown man
Crying at a birthday
Party. Simple pleas that
Used to work, forcing hugs
In the kitchen. I’ve stopped
Feeling you, and am
Looking at
My guts contained by
Skin, barely.
It will hurt until it doesn’t
Anymore, like the wildfires
In the West. The trees will
Burn. The bugs will die.
The terror will be quiet,
Folded, something that happens
At night. I will wake up
In the morning unsure
Of myself, no longer
Brilliant, because I’m
No longer blind.
Friday, September 14, 2012
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