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Friday, April 8

A Day At The Museum

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I know this, I have been there
empty-open-broken-whole
Unaware of life here -
Prisoner to the inside.

Struggling to breathe.

“Stage daughters,” well, there’s a thought.

Are you free, Dancing Blue?
You seem to me the free-est of things.

On display in a window like a precious doll
Yearning to feel your flesh upon the wetness of their breath
To devour you in, in, inward to your smallest corner
Where you are safe,
Within your home.

Dance marionette
Won’t you play a song for me?

Brush your hair and bind your feet
And don’t forget to be ever-sweet

We like you that way.

Mother, mother, where are you now?
“When she was 6 and he was 25.”

Are you happy Esperanza?
Y tu, feliz?
You are free now, let down your hair.

Why do you cry?
Do you fear your innocence taken?
Well, we cry together.
There now, shall we put on a dress?

Dance, sweat
A trickle down the breast
Dark skin, stained white

I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I?
I know why you grab your wrist like that -
To and fro.
I think I know you.
Flecks of dark in light.

Spectators to annihilation
Comforted by your apathy
You wild light thing for all to see
Fleeing from your misery.

I think I burn with you.
I can do all, but stare at you.
Your fragility, captivating.

Candied things on display
And why so sad, there?
Don’t you like it when we stare?

“Here, why don’t you don this sheet?
It helps me not to burn my retina,
staring straight into your light.”

Beauty -
Why do we hide you?
Only to destroy you?
Then revel in the empty space?

Ah, fading beauty, lay and be still.
Scarred face, I cannot help but stare at you.
Look into me, I do not mind.

I think we are here together.
And I do not mind.

Child you should be a child.
You are not ours to break.
In so much light, and so much life,
Will you think only of the good times, please?

You there, resting peacefully.
Journey, won’t you?

I cannot tell from where you’ve come
Where you flow from here to there.
How do you make the shadow to exist apart from you?

“A shadow in the self,” now that’s a thought.

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