Poetry

SPACE (a sketchy February)

There’s a meeting ongoing with time,
It has an ounce of pain itching
in attendance along with the heart.
Sometimes it gulps misplaced priorities
like promises of metal painted gold.
Time claims to heal but for now it hurts.

So here I am dancing
in the nuke of what should befall later,
I am tired of all these
the lacing and un-lacing of this shoe
I am tired of watching this movie in pain
so please I will need this space

I need to travel to be alone,
to savior being alive and thirsty.
I need to know if my skin can heal
if my heart can mend from this fire.
I need to know if my words are true
If my lips are in accordance with these ordinances.

I need space to venerate for good
I need space to cook out my mind
I need space to write these letters to the space
I need space to tell time, it is time

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