For my dear friend And now, sadness, I instruct you to be still. Let these bones rest. Marrow pale and depleted by memory and forgiveness, they are weary and cannot stand your shaking. Let the exhausted heart encased in this bombarded cage beneath my skin jarred by your gnashing and clamouring float in the buoyancy … Continue reading Sadness, I instruct you
The bones of a poem lie beneath your skin, anchoring each muscular stanza, shaping the rhymes of left and right, dancing with the complicated riff of the brain punch-drunk on electrical impulses, stamping jubilant feet to the pulsing rhythms of the fluid-bearing vessels and their drum-beat heart.