Come now with me, my incendiary tether children
Come hide your mean breezes in my weathered crooks and elbows
We are not who we were
And the prime meridian runs swift over the deep
Come now with me, my conduits
From shore to shore you call like forgiveness at funerals and gas station pumps
You are not in the way
You are not out of the way
You are the way in the Way
Come now with me, my devourers
Singer-song-like you perch in arms of steel
Not caring for the cold and the dark
But not caring about it, either
Come now with me, my diligent breathers
Like hospital floors and frames without mats
Hold me like you mean it
Three seconds and I'm gone
Gone
Gone
Come now with me, my incendiary tether children
And I will teach you fire and string and love
And you will never be the same.
-July 2010
"Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind, in the commonplaces of the asylum where the cracked mirror or my own selfish death outstared me . . . I tapped my own head; it was glass, an inverted bowl. It's a small thing to rage inside your own bowl. At first it was private. Then it was more than myself." -Anne Sexton
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