Slate

A Poem

Photo by Alexandru Acea on Unsplash

how the questions rumble through me
and make me wonder what you are
even as a part of me fades away
into a mess of synapses

(who are you, who are you, who are you)

my invisible paramour,
caught in lines too great for me —
even as pieces of me stand still
and hunger in small doses

(hunger in small doses)

and there’s a madness to the way
everything trickles out
with ease
(something holy, something hellish —
something borrowed, something blue)

and i sit in my world of careful ends,
these bookends of self i call a person —

and i sit in my den of hopeless vows,
so many titles on the shelves waiting

(waiting just for me)

i keep my head down,
number my fair shakes at life —
all the while hoping
for more, more, more

(all the while hoping
for more)