Literature
inertia
too low to feel the wind,
face-down in the stream
that speaks with the tongue of my mother,
tells me I could have been anything,
I hear power belongs to the stars,
and I have fallen, lazy;
dead rock in a house of constellations
and a half-man who takes love,
leaves me missing the sound of pounding feet
don't you know!
my carrion worms,
my bloody tribe of Philistines-
I have brought down the sky,
I've sung and the trees danced for me;
men, women, planets
have fed me their hearts,
and I devoured and refilled them
I don't know this new lie, this wilting,
afraid all this stillness
will erase the memory of movement
soon enou
