me, I’m self effacing only in lines,
only in verse.
humbled by stark correction,
a closed fist perhaps,
a silent light that sets you on fire
(they call you a forest fire)
drowning in self,
an ocean as well,
insides rocking
tidal laments that implode in quiet, wild
stalking the world’s line,
biding mine with letters
and blades      my time;
(no they call me on my way to steal your man)
stifled, I’m waiting
for that envelope
you promised
reminding me I was
right about time and
space is the price.


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