crying for the cage, i cried
beside it, sinking with what lost lie.
you sat heavy to call it for
what it was. at least, in your narrow way -
and i looked, through further gray
and saw what you thought you threw.
our white sky skinned and the
sun blistered over your pale hand.
your claims praised you as most bold
of open land. but i didn't create cages,
and i'm not so tired, small
like you say. i'm not so weak
to call you your hate. the wind
blows even the boldest when their
passion fears itself. tell me:
where does it go? does it protect you
from what it knows? who does it follow?
the facts of math, with their hands
too small to hold? i want things
you don't want to see. i, too,
slipped into that heat, turned around,
and watched your thick eye
sliding.
"and saw what you thought you threw our white sky skinned and the sun blistered over your pale hand."
ReplyDeletethe rhythm of this whole piece is tight. the questions & commas at the end are working & key.
"i'm not so weak to call you hate"