I find
A space to listen
To new words like
Light and
Hear old words
Like hurt in new
Ways
Feeling them to be a
Piece of me
Real and right
As dust congeals into
Life as it were
An imperfect thing
Making a jagged angle
Back to home

But I am dumb
To tell
The waking woman
How everything just lives and dies
And all that matters
Is unclear
A fainting feeling
That things might be okay
The next morning.

Cacophony
And siren song, where
Is a heritage?
Does it live in blood
Or psychological memory
Just as thick
And laden
Or do we start
Reset
Burst forth out of cocoon
Like a new life, cut or
Whole, regarded as only
A son of earth, universal
Heritage, lonely only
So far as I cannot
See
Our links
Are everywhere

I mistake a
Thinking mind
For separation

Written the early-ish morning of Wednesday Jan 17th, 2024 in the lower east side, sitting on the carpet on the floor, in a notebook, in a burst. And then retyped here in the evening (9:34PM) before bed. Edited June 16.