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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Review Chain
I am wearing thin.

Submitted: June 05, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 05, 2017



They ask me to describe the human condition

As if that can be encompassed by

The glass bowl sitting in my chest


Fish crooning in circles

Seeking the bubbles in my breast


They ask me to…


They ask me to stay

She asks me to stay


There’s no fishbowl

Someone dropped seeds down my throat

An invasive species swims between

The knots and tangles


Broken glass


Fish can die during a drought


Not sure if I’ve ever known “alive”


But she assumes there isn’t---

A lie. A steepness to this height


A stillness that belies a blight


My pores exude raspberries, mint,

And straw.


They ask me to prune my brambles

And my gravestones


She asks me to tend and maintain,

Lies down, mild, and gravel,

weeds don’t grow fainter

Nor do they grow alert


Her hands aren’t shears

Her hands bear no gloves

Her hands are alive

So alive, digging through my earth


They ask me to become tragedy,

The comedy, the backdrop,


Scorch the leftovers and the ready

They jar and store my disdain


Cause Fire needs air to breathe

They need Fire to eat

Ash is what they want from me


But, she unsheathes a While

She’s the Fishbowl, the glass on outside

Fish swaddle the mean

Divide, add up, take the low


How low is low?


Is this any different from the

Blackened shores born of

The countless ribcages I’ve hung


Or is all I know ruin? And it how it grows and grows

Has me swimming.

The fish dying in rows


The human condition is a compass

I'm the needle pointing West

She’s got South jammed in

Riverbeds my mama tore abreast


It grows outward, forward,

Where’s my heart

Made of soil


Did she uncover it?

The fishbowl or the trowel

Or the hands that  claw

And chase the dryness


Into my home?


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