#43

I eat cheerios and drink tea.
Outside the fog spins ambiguously.
There’s not much there to touch or see–
it’s wet outside from rain.

In something close to sleep
my thoughts are formless echoes of the deep–
and in my dreams I cannot weep
for starry nights again.

My life has stood a loaded gun–
for lies I tell block out the sun
and make for myself an artificial one–
my tears can never be regained.

I wait for something soft and dreary–
a cold wind in a world so weary–
and dream of happiness with soul so teary
As the moon is slowly waned.

A rhythm comes across my mind–
a beat impossible to be denied–
its truth leaves reason all behind
and outstrips the iron train

of whispered words without meaning
and powerful, slippery engineering–
with emphatic thumbs and lacking hearing,
I am pushed into the grain.

I know the words I write are strange
and I wield them like a force deranged
or I place them so to make a stage
for all my thoughtful trains.

Eclipse plumage has come and passed
and far away a ship holds fast
to a course a die has long-since cast
and murmurs, sea-bound, feigning—

“Beware the simple-minded hour
when, by a trick or thought or power,
you fade into the world to cower,
seasick from your fame.”

                                                -Kaitlyn Medina                       [10/21/08]

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