Into These Dry Bones
you could die being a poet
feelings of forty people clamped
between your clavicle and your breastbone
fifty phantoms of paranoia fighting to dominate
you were too vulnerable
you let others see the inside of your soul
in those twelve lines
wanted to retrieve them after you sent them out
imagined blowing your whole poetic credibility
flat on your face
blind even to the soles of others’ feet
the smell of the earth against your cheek
dust against dust
waiting ear to hear another rhythm
breath of life into these dry bones
you could die being a poet
feelings of forty people clamped
between your clavicle and your breastbone
fifty phantoms of paranoia fighting to dominate
you were too vulnerable
you let others see the inside of your soul
in those twelve lines
wanted to retrieve them after you sent them out
imagined blowing your whole poetic credibility
flat on your face
blind even to the soles of others’ feet
the smell of the earth against your cheek
dust against dust
waiting ear to hear another rhythm
breath of life into these dry bones