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Short Stay (a poem)


William Blake Golden String

a handful of acorns

like growths

strangle my throat

the potential for an extended stay

in the home of my flesh

Could you be the end of my days?

Fear grips my insides

with the insights of life and loss

you’ve no mouth yet

yet you whisper

don’t worry

I’ve come to be with you

just for a moment

not alone

don’t be afraid

the attachment to flesh, to stories

to being responsible for shaping me

holding me

was not slated

I have come to grace your heart

with your own love for yourself

clinical white and stainless steel

are as inappropriate

you whisper

as the screen shot

ghostly

microscopic beat

that wraps the tears that blind

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