no matter the jubilant ribbons that string from me
or strike in desperate sheets
of seething frustration
it sticks
like a lion to the golden ground
present
strong
worthy
it sings, this blind thing,
like a sword
stripping notes from the sky
blossoms
falling slowly
begging touch
sweet lopping of heads
a silver screen, pops and jumps
making obvious the distortion that laps at my heart
more and more I laugh and yet it stays.
yes
I hoped the laughing would coax it to light where it would fold over
revealing sharp edged flatness
but it seems the hoping just gives it a platform
and only acceptance offers hope
but that gives it a platform
that begs the acceptance that offers hope………. that gives….
even breath
offers
hope
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