Thursday, May 21, 2015

When I cry

When I cry
I cry from the beautiful
destruction of my life
the tearing down
and tearing down
and disintegration
of what I was
and what I've known.
I cry of what is unique
in this world, of sameness
of ideas gone wild until
there is no sense
in maniacal laughter
in having no breath
the morning after
the scent of death
and ash and river
and pyre
of course the fire
and monkeys.
I lost the back of my earring
three years ago 
in Kathmandu the power outage
blinded me
and I banged the side of my head
on the doorway and I heard it, 
the ping ping ping
of my earring
bouncing across the tile until
it disappeared into the drain
and I smiled, knowing
I'd touch the place
where it should be
the beautiful destruction
here with me

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