A Seven Story Week

Said a promise
that I cut
to not recompose
unrequited love

made a bet on red
that’s what I said
but it hopped scotched to black
black’s not on the spectrum
but a shade devoid of light

a seven story house couldn’t deteriorate
more than this one
the second floor collapse in a whisp of cloud
it almost crushed my cells
eyes swimming in the sea
in the pouring rain
each drop refracting all potentiality
but shattering on the asphalt
the forth was an aftershock
pinning me down until I lost circulation

and blacked out

these days I am a refugee
fleeing from nation to nation
afraid of
amorphous monsters
thinking to myself
there was nothing to fear
but myself
and I think
I’ve rediscovered the art
of climbing over trash piles
and reclaiming my voice
which can barely reach the microphone
or wearing my father’s grungy sweater
trailing below my knees
I reclaimed the practice
of letting raw egg sensations flow down
and encapsulating them in a cavern
in the pits of a twisting root stomach
all tangled webs, treadless tires, pre-chewed gum
then regurgitating poison fed to my ears

I took the spittle
I took the damnation
I took the rotten fruit
I looked undaunted
I was secretly cowering
I stood up to bravery
and measured our pencil marks on our childhood door frames
often repeating mantras
with my hail mary prayers
of imprecision

hoping for resurrection

into the end zone
hoping Jesus would catch me
before I sunk into the towering waves

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