literature

Second Line to the Moon

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BlackBowfin's avatar
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Literature Text

there are several shades of blind
and the one our window wears
blocks slightly less light
than death's,
for we live out a soft dark
in the unlit, north facing side
of a house neighboring his

our property lines drafted
in indistinct blur
strings of steam, pulled taught
between theoretical points
of what we misperceive as intersection

we never truly own anything
we're more witness than victim
more human than being,
more content
to waste in a circular wish
for merely more wishes

it's here, we stopped
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through

it's here, a baby tethered to you
expertly ties a second line to the moon
before its hands are even formed
before our dream can rasp a name
into the plank wooden tongue
in my coffin of a mouth

and before either of us
can swallow splinters
the muscle memory of night
swallows us both into dream,
dreaming that moon lower, closer
our paper ladder, taller
these scissors sharp enough
to free that rock
and sink it forever skyward
It's been a while, so.....  greetings, lovely readers.
This is a pretty personal piece, hits close to home these days. Funny how things can just hover in the middle- not good news, not bad news, just a quiet hope and an unspoken maybe that things will go better this time.

Any dontations of luck, well-wishing or prayer/mediation will be gladly accepted.

Peace, dearlies!

Scott
© 2017 - 2024 BlackBowfin
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leyghan's avatar
it's here, we stopped
where the people we were, somehow drifted
onto the same starless side of the road,
insides speaking through our skins
outsides yielding to anything
alive enough
to find its way through


The whole thing but particularly this verse, a stuck blade in my sweet spot.