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“i Wish I Was Wherever I Am” (In Progress)

i

She woke late this morning
telling of a dream so powerful
it will take the rest of the week to recover,
unable to convey any meaning
even to herself
struck weak by implications
she cannot understand.

“It was like a seminar on life”
eventually she says
looking at me all questions

and I am left grasping after vapor
asking questions of questions
imagining answers so huge
that a mind can not contain.




ii

There is a certain fear
in being unable
to place ourselves in life.

We’re trying to trace
the days of the week
a slippery task
as each is much the same.

So we decide to reinvent it all.
Let every day be different
and as we wake
put on some disguise
step forward, make it up
find some way to inhabit the hours.






iii

A letter from lawyers came today
a sharp stab from the past.
Your sister, buried some time back
in your mind is not quite dead
she resurfaces again and again:
photos found in books
a face or name on TV.
Now this small inheritance of grief

“It makes it official, ” you say.
But is it officially the end?








IV

Imprisoned by the decades
and the jail that your
fractured body has become,
you still escape.
Through the window
into the sparky hearts of Finches
or the Titmouse
into the burlesque figure of the Thrasher
and sometimes, when your lucky
into the sub-light speed of the Hummingbirds
as they rocket through the garden
consuming themselves in delight.






v

Each day we try to assemble ourselves
summoning parts of a puzzle
that over time’s long reach
doesn’t quite fit together,
a galaxy drifting away from itself
a breath only partially retrieved.

But in exhaling deeply and becoming less
could we not wake in a different place
like a shining cloud that hovers
over some faraway land
waiting to rain, give life
become something new?




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Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

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