One night, I fell in Love
with the idea to excavate
all my fragmented scribe
and ink that was spilled to describe
on a crumbled up parchment
in my dingy apartment
And Excavated, every word with
fitful fingers acting like scythe
with the tears borne in my eyes
past skin, tissue and rind disguise
until, naked and trembling, I took a
deep breath and dah
excavated back the last word
from the last throbbing ink and my veins
to bare
the messed up tangled sheets
raw, boneless inside still shivering
like heavenly soul caught in cold
with a frenzied look in every brittle word
and screeching like a caged bird
those tangled sheets, started thrusting
its small thin, soft body
again and again
up against the windows pane
searching for an elusive holy fire
to turn its composites into ashen pyres
because essence of those words
was dying from the core
along with the dreams it forswore
Yes, it hurt
no, I don’t know
why I did it
but I walked away letting those sheets loose
get away with the winds
I guess because
it would have hurt more not to
Because that night I fell in love
to fill that negligent corner
and stop the source of
all that poetry.
