25.11.12

turn, i do not know which way

but who am i to tie you down?
i'll let you pull your own strings.
i'll let you win the quiet game
if you let me stick around.

but no, know I understand
your urge to shout against the ocean
on the stern and infinite rim
of which, you almost think you see
the curving of the beanpot earth.

that gentle curving of the beanpot
that is railing me
for how i teased, from indoors,
that children and birds
do not understand glass.

and promptly stubbed my toe
on a chalkboard with a gusto
that equals

buttered toast
before good, honest work--

love
and making it--

and some people's
absolute intangibility--

because children, birds
and I
do not understand glass.

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