literature

how many rebirths

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Literature Text

in a world of locks
and a world of children,
we have all learned to listen at doors.
the every-same overheard question
leaving its footprint on a dirty bedroom floor:
how many rebirths are we made of?
i refused to answer
when an eye met mine at the keyhole
and fled to scratch out revelations in the dust.

and each new word
was another plea for each old word
to mean something more.
cold water splashed on my face,
city sun crashing its earthquake way
along an unlined eyelash.
liberation.

for every spark of july
that drifted 'cross your hands,
a corresponding puzzle
made itself known
in blanketed goosebumps on my arms.

"goodnight," i said quietly,
and music poured and sifted
through air currents too quick to notice.
slow down. this night's a perfect shade of dark blue. have you ever been alone in a crowded room when i'm with you? i said the world could be burning down.

-jack's mannequin
© 2007 - 2024 Pluia
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