Getting Blank

Reset your face. Erase all traces
of the you that’s been you for way

too long. Forget your song: the words,
the refrain, that last strain that kept

you sane through the tumbled storm.
Wish yourself strange, a stranger in

your own skin, a place to center your
self new, map of veins leading some

-where soon, somewhere wonder-
wandered loose from thought, un

-caught and clouded only by indigo
blue. Stain yourself in ink and bright

bold open sky. Swallow rain. Bundle
moon into bite-sized bones. Be known.

Prompted by Poetic Asides

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2 Responses to Getting Blank

  1. ihatepoetry says:

    This tumbles beautifully, easily like a peach down a hill. Gorgeous and defiant.

  2. Victoria says:

    The beginning stanzas kinda scared me because who would we be if we forget our songs–but then the ending. Aaah!

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