Poetry this month is hexed


 

I am hunting for words,
in the marginalia and in
the frail silences that 
crumble at touch.
My mouth is filled with the
warm metallic taste of loss,
I bleed in letters of a language
I no longer understand;
everyday a fresh page,
smudged words, crisscrossed paragraphs,
images, music and sketches
skirmishes, idiosyncrasies,
noises and distractions,
thoughts pressed into wayside,
visual ideas, blotches of ink
there is a storm on my fingertips.

“Do not write of angst,” I’m told,

but I do not intend to wear a mask

I want to lay bare myself

I want you to see how
your love has affected me.

You are a sylph,
and I am haunted by you.

you can read all the You and Me posts Here 

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