oh, boy, are we in a terrible fix. The world
isn’t black and white, my love, all this false
print. It’s blue and green and sky and sea
and everything golden and fought for in be
-tween. I don’t want another headline, love;
etch me a lifeline, something I can hang my
hat from, hang my heart on, like the corner
of your smile. Sensationalize hope for once,
place the propaganda of promise right in my
lap. Trap all these fragile winged things just
long enough to feel their stir, then whir them
back out into this black spill softer, stronger
still. We’re broken, but we’re a whole lot more
solid than all this. This world is starving for
some smaller silence. You can quote me on this.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.