Rough.

I don’t know why I thought
the sun would like my palms-
like their desperate grasp,
their weakness.
I thought it would make my heart
grow taller, somehow,
like shadows in the daylight,
but all I’ve seen here
is the moon.

A plus A never equals
anything good, at least
in my case, with the night
air on my skin.
I wanted the sum of letters,
the alpha sequence,
to fall around me like rays.
Maybe then there’d be fire
on my tongue.

All I got was burnt.
Ash and library books,
a closed mouth to the third
degree. The goal
was never to rewind four years,
to where the wall
comes up between my teeth,
to where being in shadow
means existence.

To where the electric light on
means I can’t go inside,
not there. I’m a fox
chasing a torch-beam, ravenous,
and it’s just not fair
that some coins shine
at the bottom of the well,
while others, muddied, forget
the wish they fell with.

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