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Poetry | March 16, 2010

it can never seem to make sense
all the rushing, mad dashing
to and fro

i am sentient
still inside
quiet as smoke when i think out loud

it can't be again
there's just not enough time
we've already lost an hour
two in fact

there's not much to grasp at here
it's all wrapped tightly and tied

our tangled sinew

but i am still walking
and try as i might
you resist
all that i give you
which is not much at all
just pieces of me
small snippets
that i cut myself
without effort or pain
because those are the parts that
belong to you

i can't put them any place else

stella

3162010