Friday, March 16, 2018

CHALK

I've existed here
so long,

I feel I'm no longer subordinate
meat

and bone;
I'm a burnt coal

a hunk
of old
recalcitrant fossil—coming off

in my own hands. Coming off
desperate

for the symbols,
frenzied
for the right words

to press and scrawl and
decorate
this primitive space. But

every time
I etch a "yes"—crumbling

a little,
stepping back

to observe, it
always looks a lot

more like—"not yet."

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