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My ducklings have gone away today I
will not see them again they have
to grow, I have to rest that’s
how it works, that’s how it ends
but I have given
so much
of myself
now I’m not sure
how much is left
except now I know
how much room
there really is now I can
measure the space
they left and
it is bigger than I was
at the start
I was born buried deep in the snow
I was born gripped tightly in chains
I learned to build raging fires
but the sting of the iron remains
The world loves a beautiful arsonist
The world loves a singer of flames
It celebrates those who can set it ablaze but
It notices nothing of chains
I have put so much magic
in places it shouldn’t have been
I have sores all over
from picking apart the times
If I’m raw it’s because I never healed
If I tell the truth it’s not the whole thing
I ate too much magic I couldn’t afford
and now I keep secrets from you
But oh, sometimes I believe
we live in a place
where magic is as magic does-
if I ripped open all those scabs
would they pour out glitter,
if I went back to that place
would you meet me there?
Of course, of course
you wait there still
where magic should never have been
but each time I go back I see
your shadow
and the blisters rise again.
Grey hours love me
like dead flowers
untragic reminders
of function and purpose
They are my estate,
my inevitable sickness
and cure;
they are children I bear
They sit and watch,
attached to ceilings and walls,
they whisper
or sometimes they sing
indecipherable words I
wish I could play;
try to teach me things
I wish I could learn
All I’ve learned
is that these things
do happen
There’s nothing
but to wait
Grey hours love me
like dead flowers
forgotten ’til the
next bouquet
if you must give up
i must let you give up
if i’ve made you tired
then i must let you rest
there is nothing in your eyes
to keep you here
there is nothing i would do
to make you stay
you don’t remember
and i can’t forget
but i can’t bring it back to you
i cannot watch you hurt
if you must give up
then i must give up too
there is a cosmos in our silence;
to sit quiet with you is better
than speaking for hours
with anyone else
the world, pressing for content,
turning thought to data to excess,
a machine of produced community,
forgets to earn,
forgets how to guess
and we, in silence, auction off our places in the race,
buy back our costly solitude
to break in half and share
we are worth more than
what comes out of our mouths
You don’t know me but you will, Caroline
I hope you’re ready for a mess
I hope the money’s worth the time
You don’t hate me yet but you might, Caroline
Before I’m through with you
Many have tried but I don’t go down
without a fight; I’m on fire
and you’re gonna put me out
Call me anytime with the news, Caroline
Tell me what I always knew
Tell me I’m too young to die
You’re gonna see that I’ve died many times, Caroline
And there’s not much you can do
