Poetry like


I open slowly and shut fast. I shut like I drop my clothes on the floor after struggling out of them. Shutting makes me small, makes me see small, makes me feel small, makes you feel small. It is a black edge dripping with the stench of dread.

Unfolding hurts. I cranked open that opening window on the schedule of each day until it was ordinary. Unfolding made me big in smallness and small in bigness. It made me feel the humor in pain and the pain in humor. It acquainted me with the certainty in uncertainty and the uncertainty in certainty. 

There is an expanding cavern of possibility and gentleness in me. I want to unfold from herein out. I want to unfold. 


I write abecedarian sequences

2 replies on “unfolding ”

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